


Stay Put

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14799329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Sam is recovering from the pneumonia he contracted in "And on the Seventh Day" and finds there is a lot of speech writing to be done





	Stay Put

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

A reasonable lull in the usual activity of the Bullpen was broken by a shocked 'Damn!', followed by a lengthy bout of uncontrollable coughing. Bonnie rolled her eyes at Ginger,

"My turn?" She rose and filled a cup of water from the cooler, taking it in to Sam who was staring at the television, gasping and spluttering. Bonnie placed the cup on his desk and waited until the spasm passed before nudging it towards him. "Drink this, Sam."

Sam flashed a weak grin, attempting to smother the coughs within, his shoulders shaking. Finally he reached out and took the cup, taking careful sips, feeling the fluttering settle.

"Thanks, Bonnie." He leaned back in his chair and pointed the cup at the television. "This is a disaster. Get me Mike Holmes from the Law Society on the phone, and d'you know where Toby is?" He went to stand, surprised to find a firm hand on his shoulder, anchoring him into the seat. "Bonnie?"

She smiled down at him without removing her hand, "Josh said you weren't to move from this chair. He said our jobs depended on it. I really like my job, Sam."

Sam wriggled under her firm grip, "But I need –"

"Tell me what you need."

"The Law Reform folder – it's –"

"I know where it lives. I'll get it. Then I'll get Holmes on the phone. Toby's meeting with the people from the Energy Commission. He'll be back later." Her fingers still pressed against his shoulder, "You gonna stay put?"

Sam nodded. He thought he'd seen Josh talking to the staff out in the Bullpen. Stay in his seat! He snorted softly to himself, which made him cough a little again. He knew Josh was just worrying about him – that had been obvious the minute Sam started to dress that morning…

"You sure you're up for this?" Josh knotted his tie in front of the mirror, glancing at the reflection of Sam sitting on the bed.

Sam had sighed at his shoelace, "Yes, I'm quite sure. It's only 'til lunchtime anyway."

"If you last that long."

"Only six hours!"

"Have you noticed how many times you've been creeping back to bed during the day? At least four yesterday."

"Yeah, but – "

"Abby said you'd be really tired for at least a coupla weeks, if not more. So don't fight it."

Sam rose and stood behind Josh, wrapping his arms around his partner's waist and resting his chin on Josh's shoulder. Josh leaned back against him, staring into the mirror at Sam's pale face and still-shadowed eyes. Those blue eyes stared back at him defiantly,

"I'll be fine. You'll see."

"I'll get Donna to schedule me a time to drive you home."

"No! God! I'll get a cab or Toby can do it." 

"But I want to." Josh wrapped his own arms over Sam's. "I've enjoyed looking after you."

"Really?"

"Well, it wasn't so hard." He smirked at Sam's reflection, "You didn't eat much, you slept twice as much as you normally would, if not more, and you've been moving very slowly. It's actually been easier than usual!"

Sam pouted at the mirror and Josh took the opportunity to swivel round and hold Sam tightly to himself. "And it'll be bed for you. All afternoon."

"Okay! Okay! I hear you."

* * *

He flicked through the Law folder until Bonnie reappeared at the door – "Holmes has gone awol."

"How long?"

"Half an hour."

"Damn! I thought he might!" Sam shut the folder in frustration. He could feel another bout of coughing rising up inside his chest, "Sorry," he gasped. "Need – talk someone-" he exploded into another loud spell. Bonnie waited. She had been surprised at Sam's fragile appearance that morning, and was relieved when Josh had said he was only there until lunchtime. She patted him gently on the back and waited for him to regain some sense of equilibrium. 

He let out a shaky breath, "Try the Grange. Someone there might be able to help me! Maybe Flick Curtis…" Bonnie's eyes flickered momentarily at the mention of such a prestigious law firm.

"Sure, Sam." He was reaching for his Rolodex but another cough stopped him, and she took it from his hand. He leaned back in his chair, somewhat defeated, while Bonnie made the call, and she crouched next to him, "On hold!" she whispered. "You want a coffee after this?"

"That'd be great."

 

By the time Bonnie returned with coffee, Sam was deep in conversation with Curtis, and it sounded like there were some contentious issues at hand. Sam was making rapid notes on a legal pad. She took a piece of memo paper and wrote him a note of her own, pills. Sam rolled his eyes and drew a container out of his pocket, holding up two fingers. Bonnie could read that message, and shook out two capsules, which he took with his coffee.

Twenty-five minutes and three calls later, Sam called Ginger and Bonnie into his office.

"We need to change the speech for the Law Review Address. The Fair System Law Reform people, who are a thinly veiled cover for Republican troublemakers, have thrown a spanner in the works, knowing full well we'd be well on the way to our final draft by now – " he paused and looked up at them, "we are well on the way to our final draft, aren't we?" He glanced at his watch, "I mean, this is happening in three days, isn't it?" The two women glanced at one another and Ginger frowned ever so slightly. Sam's blue eyes widened in alarm, "Aren't we well on the way?" There was a full fifteen seconds of awkward silence. Then Ginger cleared her throat,

"Sam, you've been so sick, and Toby's been swamped, and we met last Thursday, and again on Saturday and… it didn't go so well, and Toby said we'd do it this afternoon…" her voice trailed away and she met Sam's panicky eyes with her own nervous ones. He stared at her owlishly though his glasses, and his face worked through several emotions, settling finally on dismay,

"But I'm supposed to go home at lunchtime!" he exclaimed. "How can we do it if I have to go home?" He sat forward, and began to reorganise his notes. "I'll just have to stay on."

"But Josh- "

"Bonnie, Josh isn't my keeper. And clearly Toby needs the help. End of story." He looked back at them both, "So, what d'you say, meet across the hall at – when were you going to meet?"

"One."

"We'll try to make a start at twelve-thirty then." They both shrugged and nodded. "Good, Toby can join us when he's ready. Get Ed and Larry briefed too. I assume they were there before?"

As they nodded, Sam yawned and stood up carefully. Bonnie's mouth opened but he stopped her, "Just getting more coffee, okay? I can't sit there all morning." He wavered for a moment, both women twitching to take him by the arm, then sloped off to the coffee pot in the Bullpen.

* * *

Toby arrived back at one-fifteen, and they were in full swing, everyone working on phrases that could encapsulate the very heart of free and necessary legal aid for the poor. Sam was frowning slightly, his hair on end and his tie and shirt dishevelled. He was sitting in one chair with his stockinged feet up on another and was clearly tired, but still trying to co-ordinate the meeting. He heard Larry out and was nodding but even from the far door Toby could see the strain. He caught Ginger's eye, and she gave him a hopeful lift of the eyebrows.

"Toby's here!" They all looked up, and Sam attempted a smile. Toby didn't even speak. He walked purposefully over to Sam's chair and held out a hand. Sam frowned up at him so Toby waved his hand impatiently,

"Up."

"Huh?"

"Come. With me."

Sam struggled to his feet as Toby swept out into the corridor. Leaving his shoes, Sam padded after him, the movement causing him to start coughing again. He arrived breathless in Toby's office,

"What? We just got – started – early."

"Sam, you were supposed to go home by lunchtime."

"I'm just sitting. I – did you hear – Perkins from Fair Systems – this morning –"

"What happened?"

"He's come out in favour of reviewing the legal aid system with the intention of dropping it altogether."

"You're kidding."

"It was on Matters Arising just after ten. They want to see a fair – God, that's so stupid – a fair system for all and that means suggesting we scrap the legal aid system with the intention of something that does cost but – damn, I can't even get my head around it yet." Sam shook his head like a wet dog, his face a picture of confusion. "We have to get a handle on this though, for the speech. I don't think we can ignore it."

"No." Toby's eyes were dark jewels, "Who have you talked to?"

Sam rattled off the names, and Toby made some quick notes. He looked up again, "Good work. Get back to me in an hour and a half."

Feeling somehow reprieved, Sam headed back into the meeting room. Three times in the next hour they sent phrases over to the Counsel's office for checking, and nine more calls were made to establish the depth of the Fair Systems jolt through the legal system. As Ginger read aloud their best paragraph to date, the others sat back with a satisfied, collective sigh. It was good. Sam took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Now that the adrenalin rush of that hurdle was over, he could feel the exhaustion tug at his brain. He told everyone to take a five-minute break and leaned forward, resting his head on his folded arms.

Toby's imminent appearance in the room was incentive to get more chunks of the speech plotted and formed, like putting the bones of a skeleton together, adding the tendons and muscles section by section. He had raised his eyebrows at Sam's dark head pillowed there at the table, the younger man clearly asleep.

"Ginger, I need you back in the Bullpen. What – what shall we do with him?"

"He's supposed to be resting. Which he kind of is…" 

 

Toby snorted somewhat impatiently, "Josh knows he's still here?"

"If he did, we'd be in hot water, he practically threatened us!"

Toby moved a little closer to Sam, "Look, I'll drop him home now." He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and shook him gently, "Sam!" Sam stirred slowly and lifted his head, blinking. Toby slid into his line of vision, "C'mon, time to go home."

"Did I drop off?"

"Yeah. C'mon." And Toby collected a dazed Sam, his shoes and jacket, and disappeared out the door. Larry turned to the others,

"Didja see that? He didn't yell, he didn't even gripe and they got away without Josh finding out. Amazing, huh?" At that moment, Josh passed the window, glancing in, and everyone burst out laughing.

* * *

Sam woke slowly and stretched. He was lying on his stomach and he could feel his toes press against the foot of the bed. He slowly brought one arm close to his face to see the time. Nearly five. He peered out from under the pillows – the late afternoon sun glistened on the far wall and the mounting sounds of rush-hour traffic wafted up from below. 

Sam rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He vaguely recalled a gruff Toby shovelling him into bed, and he blushed at the image of Toby in his bedroom. He was so disappointed about being at home. The speech-writing session had been going really well. They had at least three sections down and they were the most contentious ones. Sam yawned widely. He couldn't deny the tiredness though. He ran a thoughtful finger around the elastic band of his boxers – at least Toby hadn't taken those off – then he patted his stomach – there were pills to take and that meant he needed to eat. He stretched again, on his back this time, feeling the pull of unused muscles. 

He would love to go for a run, but figured he probably wouldn't make it past the first corner. Damn this pneumonia, damn this whole breathing thing! He was a strong guy, he'd always been physically fit and he wanted to go for a run so he would, dammit! Climbing out of bed, he pulled on a t-shirt and shorts, and as an afterthought, a light sweater, just in case, and dug around in the wardrobe for his runners. Five minutes later he was warmed up and pounding triumphantly down the street, already a block from home. Six minutes later he was leaning against someone's gate, gasping like a fish in a frying pan, unable to take another step. He sank to his knees on the pavement and tried to control the ragged and wild breathing that was out of sync with his thundering heart. Sweat streamed into his eyes as the last rays of sunshine tinted his shoulders with a lingering warmth. 

Sam leaned forward on hands and knees, his shoulders heaving, and threw up delicately into the gutter, relieved there were no pedestrians about just then. Swiping at the perspiration above his eyes, he sat back on his heels and called himself a few stupid names. His heart still hammered behind his sternum and he rose shakily, grasping a lamp-post to keep his balance. He began to walk very, very slowly back towards the apartment, still gasping, and at his own corner the coughing began. He hacked his way to their entrance, extracting his key without looking up. And therein lay his newest problem – Josh was leaning in the doorway, arms folded, a thunderous expression on his face.

"What the hell –"

Sam waved him off and staggered past him, collapsing onto the couch, arms wrapped around his ribcage, which seemed to be on fire. He grimaced as Josh sat opposite him on the coffee table, vaguely surprised that there were no flames coming out from between his ribs or out of Josh's mouth.

"I'm sorry! Okay? Let me get in first. I'm sorry." He coughed between ragged gasps. "I felt totally pathetic and I had to do something and I just suddenly felt like running, and – and – " he squinted nervously at his partner, "and I did," he finished lamely.

Josh was clearly unable to say anything. He just stared, dumbfounded, at his heaving, sweaty, exhausted, idiotic lover. He bit his lip. There was a heavy silence, broken only by Sam's efforts to inhale, and finally Josh shook his head slowly.

Sam coughed, pressing his hands to his aching sides, and Josh let out an angry hiss of air. Still he sat there, staring, and Sam began to feel a little unnerved.

"You – you gonna yell? Cos if you are, maybe I could have a shower first?" He shivered suddenly and Josh held out a hand, helping Sam up and in the direction of the bathroom. Josh turned on the shower and then turned back to Sam. He very gently lifted Sam's sweater and t-shirt and slipped them over his head, smoothing his sweaty, spiky hair off his forehead. Dropping the clothes onto the floor, he laid his hands on Sam's hips, gently squeezing against the rounds of his pelvis, and rubbing his thumbs down either side of Sam's navel. As Sam twitched enticingly, Josh dug his fingers in under Sam's waistband and slid his hands down the back of Sam's shorts, cupping his rounded backside and using his wrists to stretch and drop the shorts down off Sam's waist. Slowly, Josh lowered the shorts to the floor and did the same with the boxers. Sam was still breathing raggedly but he was also now aflame with desire. Josh's slow removal of his clothes had aroused him completely and he stood there, wavering, his blue eyes glazed, his cheeks blazing with exertion and passion. But Josh gently shoved Sam into the shower and disappeared back to the other room. 

Perplexed, Sam showered and changed into a warm shirt and jeans before making his way out to the living room. Josh was on the sofa watching the news, and Sam sat down close beside him, watching him cautiously, wondering when the blow was going to come. As he sank into the cushions, Sam felt the sudden pull of exhaustion, and he leaned towards Josh, his eyes heavy. Josh's arm lifted and wrapped around his shoulders, and Sam was almost drifting off when he felt a drop of water land on the hand he had laid across Josh's stomach. He frowned and looked up – to his surprise, Josh had tears, just a few but definitely tears, trickling down his cheeks and Sam sat up in surprise, dislodging his partner's arm.

"Josh! What happened? What's wrong?"

Josh rubbed a hand across his eyes and sniffed loudly. He still stared at the television, and Sam reached for the remote, flicking it off. He frowned, "Josh?"

Josh's head moved slowly from side to side, "It's nothing, sorry."

"C'mon, tell me!" Sam was really concerned. "Did someone die? Is your mom all right? Did something happen at work? Josh!"

Josh put a hand out and laid his palm against Sam's cheek, and sniffed dismissively, "Forget it, it's nothing." He stood up, "I need to go back – you coming? We can get some dinner on the way. I think Toby wanted a session at seven, knock that Law speech on the head." He paused, "Oh and yeah, I know you went late today. You think I wouldn't find these things out?"

Sam sat there, gazing up at Josh, "But - what's the matter?"

"I told you, nothing." Josh rattled his keys, "You coming?"

* * *

Sam paced up and down the room, listening to Ed read back the last statement, and he held up a hand, "We can't say that, I'm sure of it." He dropped into a chair and flicked through a hefty law book, before sighing tiredly. "Let's go over the start – I need some words – see what we can do." He began to read, his voice somewhat hoarse,

"In normal civil legal disputes, both sides are represented by lawyers - someone wins and someone loses and both sides move on. The poor without lawyers never win and rarely can they simply move on. The loss of a job or housing can drop the entire family to another level from which it might take a generation to recover…" and he continued to read through their work until he reached the part that was still causing some struggle,

"The end of the road, the final answer to our difficulties – " he paused, "Is that too close to 'final solution'?"

Ginger eyed him, "How about 'ultimate solution' – would that work better?"

"Okay, the ultimate solution lies within the law. The law is the – what – stable thing? Solid ground?"

"Rock?" suggested Larry.

"Yes, rock! The law is the rock beneath all other endeavours of government, the – ground?"

"Solid base?"

"Cool! The solid base of all of man's – "

"Humans, people, mankind…"

"Humankind?"

"Is that a word?"

"I kind of like it."

"Sounds like something out of Roswell!"

"We come in peace."

"Guys – the solid base of all human activities. And so the law must be available for all, it must be accessible for all - "

"Affordable?"

"Yes! It must be affordable for all. That's good, available, accessible, affordable."

"Nice alliteration."

"Thus speaks Professor Larry the Linguist."

"C'mon, guys, before Sam passes out on us again."

"Hey, that's not fair. I did NOT pass out on you."

"Just read on, boss."

Sam raised one eyebrow, but continued, "No person should be found wanting because they could not afford a lawyer. No man or woman could – should be jailed because due justice was beyond their resources. All people deserve equal footing under the law, a fair trial, a good lawyer, a belief that they are innocent unless proven guilty."

"I like that."

"Me too. Keep going, Sam."

He started to cough, his eyes watering, and he slid the laptop sideways so that Ginger could carry on,

"Without a system of legal aid for those with few resources, we are condemning these people to the vagaries of a law that would work only for the wealthy, only for the educated, and only for the powerful. This government does not and will not accept any

-" She stopped and looked around, "It ends there." She swung back to Sam who appeared to have paled suddenly, "How about a break?"

 

"Sure, take five, everyone." He yawned and leaned his head on one hand.

"You look a little tired, Sam. You sure you want to carry on?"

"I'm feeling kind of fuzzy, how much did we get done?"

"Most of it really, it's just those points we need to look up- " she rattled off the three legal matters they needed to research, "We can do that and show you in the morning."

Sam yawned again. "Nah, I'll go do that, and you guys work on the ending."

He rose stiffly, taking a legal pad with him, and headed for the Bullpen. Toby was on the telephone and Sam slipped into his own office, quite pleased to have some time to get the necessary research done himself. 

He leaned towards the window for a minute, peering at the dark night, wondering about the lives of the people out there hurrying home from work to their families. Sighing loudly, he turned to the computer and settled into his chair…

Half an hour later, Sam's eyes grew round and his mouth dropped open – he had inadvertently come across a case involving the KKK in Texas, and a shiver ran up his spine, shaking his shoulders and making the skin crawl under his hair. There wasn't time to dwell on that now, so he saved the reference and e-mailed it to his home computer. He knew they had not yet found the man who had apparently stalked him and invaded his bedroom in Manchester two weeks before. He still found himself checking corridors and alleyways, locking doors and windows more meticulously than ever before. And he was barely back in circulation yet, Josh watching over him so carefully as he recovered from the indignity of yet another problem with his health this year. 

He sat back and thought about Josh for a minute. Why had Josh been so upset this evening? If it wasn't any of those other things, could it be him? Was Josh regretting being in a relationship with someone so …unwell? Sam frowned. He had certainly had a bad run since Nebraska, and Josh had been caring for him after every miserable thing that had happened. Maybe Josh didn't want to do that anymore. Sam's brow wrinkled in consternation. He couldn't bear to think about getting through all of this without Josh. He had to show Josh how well he was. But today's attempt at a run probably failed to inspire any confidence. What an idiot he was. So impatient. He would have to show Josh that he was well on the road to recovery, somehow. 

He finished the research, having found good back-up for the points they needed to make, and stretched tiredly. He could see Toby shrugging on his overcoat, and a moment later Toby was there in front of his desk.

"Why're you still here?"

Sam indicated the computer, "Needed some case studies and facts for the protection of the people part of the speech."

"Much luck?"

"All done. Listen to this, 'Legal Aid is at the center of the last line of defense for the basic civil liberties of the poor. If this line fails, we are all at risk.'" Sam rubbed a hand through his hair, "We can knock it on the head in the morning, for sure."

"That's good." Toby managed to look like they were having a conversation, even though he was staring at the muted television, "I – uh – put you down for a meeting with those people from Fairlight, in the morning, first thing. I figured you'd be up for that." He shifted uncomfortably, and peeked at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam spluttered incoherently for a moment, coughing loudly, before getting enough breath to go on the attack,

"Toby, no!!! Not the Fairlight people! They're wackos!"

"They're not wackos, Sam, they're – " he waved a hand that clamoured for a suitable description, "They're people with – ah – hope, Sam. And that's why you're meeting with them, because they see you as – well," his voice shook a little with suppressed mirth, "as hope for the future."

"That is so wrong. D'you want me to tell you how many things were wrong with that statement?"

"Nope, because I don't care. I only care that I don't have to meet with them."

"Wait, I remember, you were meant to meet with them last week!"

"And dammit, you were sick, and I had too much to do, but – hey – you're back and you can share your wondrous talents with the happy Fairlight people, who do unfortunately have a huge, and I mean HUGE following back where they come from, wherever the hell that is. So we do need to give these people some of our precious time, right?"

Sam stared at Toby through his glasses, and yawned, "Fine, whatever." He peeled off his glasses and smeared his fingers through his eyes, "I'm kinda tired. Might need to head home myself. Just wait for Josh."

Toby was surprised at that, Sam admitting he was tired, and he stared hard at the pale speechwriter, his gaze resting on blue eyes encircled with dark shadows. "I'll drop you home now if he's not leaving for a while." 

"You don't go in my direction."

"I want you back tomorrow, and you look like – "

Sam stared at him, one eyebrow raised, and Toby suddenly felt the very descriptive 'crap' dissolve and he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, "You look exhausted."

"That's why I'm taking him home, now." Josh was leaning in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, a gentle smile aimed towards Sam, and he flicked his head in the direction of the exit. Sam rose slowly and pulled on his jacket and coat. Toby swung round to Josh,

"Make sure he sleeps. I need him in the morning."

Sam snorted, "For the wackos." They left together, Sam sandwiched between the two older men. 

* * *

Two in the morning, and Sam tossed and turned, feeling unwell. He peered at Josh in the darkness, fast asleep, his breathing slow and relaxed. Sam didn't want to disturb him, and he slipped out of bed, shivering, pulling on a heavy sweater. His head felt heavy and sore. In fact his whole body ached and he headed out to the kitchen to make some tea and swallow some Tylenol. 

Switching on the computer, Sam scrunched up in the chair, feet tucked up under his backside, and downloaded the site he had sent home earlier. He began to browse through the Klan website, fascinated by the depth of hatred evident on every page. He shuddered involuntarily as he read statements about purity, about a clean race, about reverse-racism and about the Aryans, phrases he could not fathom as applicable to America as he knew it. The secrecy was evident but he was able to follow links to websites which documented legal cases, and Sam began to compile a list of names of Klan members from the Southwest. He grew cold sitting there enmeshed in a web of hatred and intolerance, and he shuddered compulsively. He had always been proud of his efforts to be fair and tolerant to all people, and he couldn't understand how such blind and illogical hatred could exist amongst so many people. 

Sam still didn't know why he had been targeted by the man who stalked him. Was it a directive or had the man been acting alone? Was it because he was the most obvious member of Senior Staff who was not Jewish or Catholic? Sam continued to flick through a myriad of web pages, and the sentiments he read there filled him with a coldness that etched right into his very bone marrow. He began to shiver uncontrollably, and realised he was actually scaring himself. He could feel the presence of the man who had invaded his room in Manchester and he glanced around nervously. He dropped his glasses on the desk and pushed the chair back, covering his eyes with his hands, and took a few deep, slow breaths, trying to ignore the tickle in his chest. Hate groups. What a convoluted nightmare. 

He had had enough for one night, and switched off the computer, slipping back beside Josh and this time falling asleep, but it was a restless sleep and he awoke in the morning feeling drained. Josh had frowned with bleary-eyed confusion.

 

"You're wearing a sweater."

"I – uh – I got cold in the night."

Josh's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "You were UP!"

Sam hid his face in the pillow, unable to lie blatantly to Josh's face. "Uh-uh, not me."

"Lies!" Josh reached across and grabbed Sam around the waist, tickling him. "You were up! You can't lie to me." Sam screeched and writhed and Josh dug his fingers in even harder, "Must tell me the truth – or this'll get worse." He gripped Sam's thigh close to his groin, "Much worse!"

Kicking out desperately, Sam gasped for air, "Arrrrrrgh! All right. All right! I got up for a minute- eeeek!!" He squealed as Josh's evil fingers dug into his hip, "I give up. I got up and I did some reading, then I came back to bed. Honest." Josh let go and Sam sank into the pillows, breathing heavily. "I – I just felt a little unwell. Had a cup of tea."

"Are you okay now?"

'Think so. Yeah, I'm okay. Well, apart from your attack!"

Josh leaned in and kissed Sam, swinging a leg over him and then sitting up on top of him. "You're to have a quiet morning, and come home by lunchtime. You still look really tired, Sam." He could feel Sam's groin twitch beneath him, and he tenderly caressed Sam's flat belly, running a finger in circles around his navel. Sam tweaked more noticeably and Josh smiled, rippling his fingers up under Sam's sweater as he leaned forward for another long kiss. Sam's arms wrapped around him and they began to move against one another, unable to ignore the rising desire. Despite the time, they made love tenderly and passionately, and Sam felt reassured as Josh's hands ran all over his body in tender, gentle admiration, and he relaxed contentedly into his partner's perfect rhythm.

* * *

They were a little late but Leo took one look at Sam's pale face and shadowed eyes and didn't say a thing, instead focusing on Josh,

"I need you to meet with Dyson in an hour. He should be coming through Dulles right now."

Josh groaned dramatically and slapped his forehead. "Why, why, why do we let that man into the state of Virginia? He should be banned from coming any closer than Wisconsin."

"Why Wisconsin?"

"Why not?"

Toby snorted with exasperation, "It's not in the middle of the country, it isn't one of our borders, Dyson doesn't even pass within three hundred miles of Wisconsin on his way here, so why the hell would you pull that out of the hat?"

Josh's eyes widened slightly and he shrugged vaguely. Leo's eyes bulged impossibly and he shuffled some papers in irritation. "Just see the guy, Josh, and get that mess sorted out before ten-thirty."

"What's at ten-thirty?"

"The National League of Economic Reviewers."

"Now that has to be the most stupid name for a ridiculous group of impossibly –"

"JOSH!" Leo slammed a hand on the desk. "Shut up, will ya?" Josh just grinned at him. "Now, what else've we got going today? Toby?"

Toby sat forward, "I've got one more meeting with the energy team at ten. And Sam's got Fairlight shortly." 

Leo's gaze swung around to Sam, and he looked calculatingly at the youngest Senior Staff member. "How're ya doing, Sam?"

"I – I'm not too bad."

"You sure you should be back at work? You don't really look that good." Sam shifted uncomfortably as everyone focused on him.

CJ patted his arm, "Leo's right, Sam. Maybe, you know, you need more time. This place won't fall apart if you are away a little longer."

Sam stared at the carpet, a slow blush creeping up from his collar. Josh laid a hand on Sam's other arm, "I'll take him home the minute he starts to flag. Okay, Leo?"

Leo was still watching Sam, "Sure, Josh, good idea. Right then, let's get on with the day." 

* * *

Lara Moon sat much closer to Sam than he would have preferred, and Maya Cornflower was just about as close on his other side. Their fellow Fairlight members were seated around the large table in clusters, a sea of long, golden hair and crystal beads, sunset coloured clothes and wooly alpaca sweaters. Sam was astounded by the predictability of the people hailing from Sedona country, and he felt almost overwhelmed by their collective presence. They had been clustered in an awkward group in the Foyer, overwhelmed perhaps by the opulence of the building, and the formality of dress. Suits, ties, military uniforms – in contrast, the Fairlight people wore natural, hand crafted fabrics as much as possible, and they never walked fast. They were a contemplative people who had gained an unfathomably large following in the South-West. And now they were gathered, that was the only word Sam could find, gathered around the table leaning towards him, describing their ideas with waving hands and wide, serene smiles, another unusual feature in most of Sam's meetings, those smiles.

Despite their serenity, his head ached and he felt cold and creepy. All of the Fairlight people seemed to practise an intense sort of unblinking eye-contact which unnerved Sam considerably. He could feel his fingers trembling as he straightened his notes and tried to focus on the main issue up for discussion, the battle against remaining CFC emissions and the continued use of methyl bromide as a pesticide in Mexico, just across the border from many of these people. Sam rubbed repeatedly at his forehead as Lara Moon expounded on their desire, their hope for a land free of the poisons that were leaking out into the atmosphere on a daily basis.

"Sam, we need to exert more intense pressure on the people perpetrating this despicable behaviour." Her strong words were softened by her smile but there was steel present all the same. These people had traveled a long way to expound their ideas, and had already been put off once by Toby the previous week. Sam tried to focus on their very relevant concerns, and he listened to their plans for a total ban to be put in place. They had thought it through clearly, and it took nearly quarter of an hour for Miss Cornflower to read their proposal, everyone nodding and cooing like doves, apparently an acceptable sign of approval in Fairlight circles. Sam wondered how Toby would react if he cooed at their next meeting and he exploded in a semi-hysterical cough at the very thought of it, the women beside him patting him on the back until he recovered. 

Two hours later, the Fairlight people had been heard and Sam was reeling with the continued intensity of their body language and eye contact. He felt quite odd, as if he was leaning over, and was tempted to just push away from the table and lie down on the floor. His final comments were beginning to run together and he was having trouble finishing a sentence.

Toby had come in towards the end of the meeting, his desire to avoid the Fairlighters overridden by his concern for his white-faced Deputy, and he leaned against the wall, his arms folded. Two minutes later Sam faltered yet again, and he pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his damp forehead, his hair plastered against his skin in streaks. Toby moved close, indicating with a flick of his head that Lara Moon give him some space. The room fell silent and everyone stared at Sam. Toby laid a hand on his Deputy's arm,

"You feeling all right?"

Sam shook his head slowly, "No."

"C'mon back to my office." He watched as Sam stood up very carefully. Toby indicated that the people wait there, and then he eased Sam through the doors and along into the Bullpen. They both started in surprise to find Abby Bartlet chatting to Bonnie. Toby took hold of Sam's arm, and steadied him as they drew to a halt. Abby gazed smoothly across the Bullpen,

"Samuel! I just popped in to see how you are."

Toby's fingers tightened on Sam's arm, "He's not feeling too good right now."

Abby's manner changed in a flash and her face softened as she quickly crossed the room, "What's wrong?"

Sam shrugged, "Okay yesterday. But I - maybe I'm tired."

Abby steered Sam into Toby's office as Toby left instructions for Bonnie to thank the Fairlight people and give them a tour before escorting them safely out of the building. Abby sat Sam down on the couch, and her hand rested on his forehead. She frowned,

"Sam, you're a little feverish."

"No. Can't be. Getting better." All the same, he leaned into her hand, eyes closed.

"You're going home now. To bed." She looked up and confronted Toby's dark gaze, "Sorry, but this boy's not ready to be into full swing yet." Abby gently loosened Sam's tie and collar, and looked into his hazy blue eyes. "You want me to organise you a ride home?"

Sam's eyes narrowed slightly, "Josh –"

"I'll call him." Toby was pleased to have something to do other than stare at his shattered looking Deputy.

* * *

 

Josh carefully removed Sam's jacket. He took Sam in his arms, who leaned against him limply.

"You're hot."

"So are you."

"Sickly hot, I mean."

"Oh."

"You have to stay here, and rest."

"I will, I will."

"I'm taking your keys."

"Josh, you can't!"

"I can. And I will."

"I think you'll find you're violating a number of human rights."

Josh's hand dipped into Sam's pants' pocket and removed the keys, "Consider yourself violated."

Sam laughed gently against Josh's shoulder, and Josh's arms tightened around him. Sam was sure he could feel Josh trembling faintly and he lifted his head to investigate but Josh avoided his gaze.

"Gotta go." He unpeeled his partner and pointed him in the direction of the bedroom.

"You're not really taking my keys?"

"Sorry, dude. Consider yourself locked down."

"Josh, c'mon – "

"Later." The door slammed and Sam stood there in the silence, wavering. He really did feel unwell. Tired. He wandered over to the window and watched Josh jay walk across the tree-lined street towards the car. Those trees were slowly emerging from their winter hibernation, pale pure green sprouting on every branch, absorbing the Spring sunshine as it sparkled afternoon warmth from beyond the rooftops. Sam shivered as Josh manoeuvered their car out into the street and away in the direction of the White House. He hugged himself, rubbing his arms, and reluctantly decided that since he was sent home to bed, maybe he had better go lie down for a while. 

 

* * *

 

"Josh!" CJ hurried along the corridor to catch up, "How's Sam? Toby said Abby sent him home." 

"He's got a fever. She thinks it's just he wasn't ready to come back so quickly. I sent him to bed."

"You know he'll be back here after lunch."

"Oh no, he won't!" Josh grinned and dangled Sam's keys triumphantly in front of her face. "Guess what these are."

A slow smile widened CJ's face, "You took his keys? Josh, that's brilliant! Why did we never think of that before?"

"I've no idea." He frowned then turned to head towards his office, but looked back at her, "Because… I dunno. But, well, now we know what to do in future!"

"Was he cross?"

"Threatened me with some civil action but I just slammed the door on him." Josh pointed at his chest triumphantly, "I am the man, CJ!"

CJ rolled her eyes and walked the other way. 

* * *

Sam slept, a restless, feverish sleep. He dragged his eyes open mid-afternoon feeling dreadful, and he stumbled into the bathroom for more Tylenol to kill the fever. He lay back in bed for a while but shivered constantly. Finally wrapping up in a blanket, he went out to the kitchen to make some coffee. Then following his path of the previous night, Sam settled in front of the computer and had another look through the sites he had accessed before. 

He found himself caught up in some of the prosecution cases that had been brought against the KKK, interested in the almost ludicrous and roundabout ways the lawyers and police had attempted to find a reason to make arrests. The fifth case he read through featured a situation that had seemingly begun in Texas but had continued in DC. Sam was interested – this was a little closer to home. And as he skimmed down through the case notes, his jaw slackened a little and he blinked in surprise. His hand reached out shakily to pick up the phone.

"Good afternoon, Beechwood Law Centre."

"Katy, it's Sam Seaborn."

"Oh, hi, Sam, how are you?"

"I'm fine. How're things there?"

"You know, the usual chaos. What can we do for you?"

"Is Devon in?"

"He was in court this morning – should be back any time now – oh, here he is! I'll hand you over." Sam heard his name whispered and then Devon O'Reilly's warm voice boomed down the line,

"Sam! How's it going?"

"Ah – okay. Dev, I'd really like to talk to you about a case you were on earlier in the year."

"Surely. Which one?"

"A KKK case."

"Ooh, Sammy, that Blake situation?"

"Yeah. Got any free time in the next few days? Just for a quick chat?"

"I'm in New York tomorrow. But I'm free this evening. Wanna go for a drink? Can you get away by six or seven?"

"Um. Six is fine. But why don't you just come over to my place."

"No, don't worry about that, we can meet at the Heron."

Sam wriggled in his seat with embarrassment, "Dev, I can't go out. I'm at home, sick, and – well, Josh took my keys."

"By accident?"

"No."

"Josh took your keys on purpose?"

"Dev!" Sam practically wailed, "Don't make me spell this one out. Please just come over here."

O'Reilly was laughing outright, "You're telling me Josh is forcing you to stay home?" He chortled warmly. "God, Sam, that's priceless! You can't –" he snorted with humour, "you can't leave the apartment – oh God!" Sam gritted his teeth as Devon sniggered happily. "Aw, Sammy, sure, I'll come see you. Since you're on –" he barked with laughter, "on home detention."

Sam blushed and rested his hot face on his forearm. He muttered his address to O'Reilly and disconnected the call, then stumbled back to bed and flopped down onto his stomach, dragging the duvet over himself. He could imagine what was happening at work and he balled his fists in frustration, pressing his face into the pillow. Why oh why was he home today, sent by Abby Bartlet of all people, leaving him no choice in the matter, and then Josh doing much the same thing, taking his keys, as if he was a child. Irritated he sat up, trying to suppress the cough that followed his sudden movements, and plucked the thermometer off his bedside table. He popped it under his tongue, trying to think how much time had elapsed since he took theTylenol. 

The beep of the thermometer coincided with a huge coughing fit which ejected the slim tube out onto the bed. When he had recovered, Sam lay on his back and looked at the reading – he did have a slight fever even after the medicine. But that was probably just tiredness. It was normal to be tired after a bout of pneumonia, he knew that. But he didn’t want it to be him, he wanted to be at work, well and busy and worrying about the state of his abs, not the state of his lungs. His abs – he ran an exploratory hand across his midriff. He could well have lost weight but his muscles felt softer than usual. He knew he couldn't go for a run or even work out at the gym yet. He groaned in frustration, and curled up into a ball, closing his eyes, shutting out the irritation of his situation. 

* * *

Josh watched Donna lead the Land Transport representatives away, then he shut his door and leaned against it, puffing out his cheeks with relief. That had been a hard meeting and the regional planners had gone away without getting what they wanted out of this particular round of funding. Josh hadn't even been a part of that decision-making process but he had to be the one to break the bad news. 

He lifted and dropped his shoulders to release some of the tension, then plunged his hands into his pockets – there was an unfamiliar bundle in there – Sam's keys. He wondered if he had gone too far, taking those. But he was so worried about Sam. He had watched him struggle with frightening chest complaints all winter, watched him fight against himself to get out of the bed in the morning, to get through the day, to keep up with the frantic pace of the West Wing. He had watched Sam take on the disappointment of developing asthma out of all of this, and he had shared Sam's confusion and irritation over the necessary dependence on medication at times. He had watched Sam fret about being unable to get to the gym, worrying about his fitness, and he had witnessed a wreck of Sam Seaborn stagger back from his abortive run attempt the day before. Josh wandered over to the window. He was scared, scared that Sam would get sicker and struggle for breath one night and – Josh felt his eyes water and he rubbed at his face in irritation – but it was too late – he felt himself crumple inside and he went back and slumped into his chair, a few tears trickling down his face. He had to admit it to himself. He was scared Sam might die. He was scared that he would have to live without Sam. And he couldn't bear that thought. He laid his head on folded arms and pressed his hot face into his forearm.

After a minute, he sat up and swiped at his eyes. Sniffing madly, he poked around for a tissue but there were none to be found. He knew Sam would have had a neatly pressed handkerchief in his pocket, but he wasn't Sam. He just needed Sam.

There was a knock at the door and he looked up, startled. Wiping his eyes dry on his shirt-sleeve, he sniffed again, "C'mon in."

CJ slipped in, stopping dead as she took in his appearance, and she closed the door. "Josh, whatever's wrong? You look – something's wrong, isn't it?"

He looked sideways at the screen saver on the computer, "Nothing. Just had something in my eye." He rubbed his left eye as if to validate his statement. "What d'you need?"

CJ parked herself on the edge of his desk, "I need you to talk to me. Now. What's the matter?"

Josh sighed and tore his eyes away from the image of the White House bouncing around his screen, and risked a glance up at her. The evident concern he saw was enough to throw him off balance again and a shudder rippled through his body.

"I'm just a little tired, that's all." CJ just tapped her fingers on the desk so he tried to continue, "I'm just, well, I –" he paused, suddenly defeated, "Sam." His tone became more anguished, "I'm worried about him, it's been so hard, and he's been so unwell and … and I'm… I'm… I just can't… I can't see what to do and – he's so fragile at the moment, and he hates it and – I'm scared that - I –" He covered his face with his hands.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, "Josh, what are you saying?"

His voice was muffled but he carried on, "CJ, he's been so sick, coughing, chest infections, asthma, taking medication and ending up in hospital – "

She frowned, "Are you saying you are sick of caring for him, is that it? Because he wouldn't say that about you, and he never said a word when you were hurt – " her voice rose in indignation and she stood up. "Joshua, are you the most selfish individual in the entire world?"

"It's not THAT!" he yelled back, "Of course it's not that! How the hell could you think that of me?" He stood up and went to push past her, but she blocked his way.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, but I just thought – Josh, sit down. Talk to me."

He slowly sat back down and once more buried his face in his hands. "CJ, I'm scared." She could see his fingertips trembling, and she too sat on the edge of the desk again, and once more laid a hand on his shoulder. He continued, his voice slightly muffled again, "I'm scared that I'll wake up one night and he won't be able to breathe. I have nightmares about it. I'm scared that we'll lose his inhaler and he'll die right there in front of me. I'm scared he'll get another chest infection and the doctor will come out and say, 'I'm sorry but we can't fix this one.' I'm scared that he'll decide he needs to go for a run and he'll just stop breathing somewhere deserted in some park and I won't even know where he went. I'm scared – " CJ could feel his shoulders shake. "I'm scared that I'll lose him and I can't bear the thought of that." He buried his face in folded arms on the desk, trying to regain some self-control.

CJ let her gaze travel around the room as she patted Josh soothingly on the shoulder. She had never imagined him to react like this, but he had had a lot of losses in his life, maybe he was just more protective and caring than she realized. Sam had certainly had a rough winter and Josh had been there through the bad nights when the rest of them were safe in their own quiet beds. CJ slipped out the door, and asked Donna to bring Josh a cup of coffee, and her tone sent Donna straight to the coffee machine without a word.

CJ took the hot drink over to Josh, after closing the door again, "Here y'are, drink this, lover boy." 

Josh sat up, wiping his eyes on his sleeve again, and he grimaced at the wet wrinkles, "Sam's gonna kill me when he sees this mess." He smiled weakly at CJ and took the coffee in shaky hands. "Thanks. Look, I'm sorry –"

"Don't say a word. I don't think any of us could fathom what you two have been through.

And I'm the one who should be sorry. I hadn't realised you were having such a hard time over this. S'pose I just hadn't thought about that at all." She frowned introspectively, and heaved a sigh, "So how's our boy anyway? Why on earth d'you think such awful things could happen?"

Josh shrugged, "I just feel like I'm drawing away from him, I'm scared – scared that I – well –" he glanced almost shyly at her, his eyes troubled, "I could – " he swallowed painfully, "lose him. The KKK thing threw me too, that could've been so much worse." He swiped a hand over his eyes, "And he's doing well really, considering he's just getting over freaking pneumonia! And I know he's not a kid or anything, but I just, just want to keep him safe."

"You haven't told him what you've been thinking?"

"God, no! I haven't told anyone!"

"Well, hon, that was your first mistake. You need to talk to Sam about this, and soon." CJ rubbed his shoulder, "I know Sam has been ill but he's still strong, Josh. He's pretty fit and healthy, and he's awfully stubborn. I know he'd never let this beat him! He needs to know how you feel though. It might even help him to take better care of himself!" She stood up, stretching slightly, "Look, sorry, but I need to get some information from you for the briefing at five. You up for a run-through of the Economic Review meeting?"

* * *

 

O'Reilly knocked a second time, relieved when he finally heard footsteps approaching. The door swung open to reveal his friend and he immediately engulfed Sam in a huge bear hug, feeling at once the fragility of the slender man in his arms, who squeaked protestingly. He finally released Sam and held him off at arm's length, frowning carefully at his pale and rather bedraggled appearance.

"Were you asleep?"

"Sorry. Must have just dozed off a while ago." Sam smoothed a hand over his hair and straightened his clothes. "Thanks for coming, Dev. It's good to see you."

"You too, buddy, but man, you don't look so hot. Have you been sick again? You lost weight." He steered Sam towards the couch with concern. Sam blushed slightly and avoided sitting down.

"Dev, I'm okay, honestly, let me get you a beer, okay?" He pushed O'Reilly into a chair and loped out to the kitchen, returning quickly with two beers and some pretzels. He sat opposite the lawyer and they both sipped in companionable silence for a minute. O'Reilly continued to stare at Sam,

"You look like crap, buddy, what's been going on?"

Sam sighed, "Couple of weeks ago, I was in Texas, wasn't so well, and I ran into this guy, well, he pursued me, and he was some sort of Klan guy."

"A Klan guy, what'd you say, pursuing you?"

"Well, Butterfield really called it stalking. Anyway, I moved on to Manchester to meet up with the Senior Staff for the President's rally and amazingly, so I thought, this guy was there too, and he kept trying to talk to me but I was feeling really ratshit, and I managed to avoid him. The next day I was back in the Inn where we were staying, and I wasn't feeling too good – I'd gone to bed - and this guy climbed right in my window and tried to get me to listen to him."

"Feckin' hell, Sam, that's terrible!" O'Reilly leaned forward in consternation. "What'd ya do?"

Sam smiled grimly, "I wasn't well enough to do anything more than listen – he was a big guy, and when I stood up he just pushed me down again. It was pretty intimidating. Luckily Josh and Toby eventually arrived because the guy wouldn't let me answer my cell phone and he took off, and I – well, turns out I was pretty sick with pneumonia even though we didn't know it and Mrs Bartlet packed me off to the hospital up there."

"They catch the guy?"

"Nope. I was wondering, though, when I saw your name on one of the cases from those people – maybe you might have a few clues as to how I can try to find out who it was."

"I was working against these nutters, Sammy." He stood up and moved over to sit beside Sam on the couch, "Pneumonia? That's dead serious, m'boy. You really need to look at your workload here. No wonder you look like something the cat dragged in." He patted Sam on the knee, "Think about a nice quiet job in a law firm that deals with the most under-priveleged and poorly-represented of D.C. I could find you a nice office that doesn't look out over the dry-cleaner's!"

"Gee, Dev, that sounds so attractive!" Sam grinned and leaned back, sipping his beer, his head already feeling heavy again. "Why on earth would I want to keep my office in the White House?"

"Seriously though, Sammy, you look totally whacked. Have you been sleeping through all of this? You worried about this Klan guy?"

Sam shrugged, "I'm not sleeping so well, but I think that's maybe the fever. I don't know what to think about the KKK thing – it's so creepy. And this guy, he had some sort of a link to Roslyn. The shooting." He shivered, his beer sloshing out of the can, and O'Reilly eased it out of his hand, placing it on the coffee table. 

"Damn, that's awful. They really haven't been able to find this guy?"

"Not yet. I was wondering if you'd have any contacts, might get an inside word on who he is."

"You don't want to mess with the Klan, Sammy." He handed back Sam's beer, which Sam downed in a single lengthy swallow. "They're bigger than you'd think. I had a few difficulties myself at the time, just a hint of threat in the air."

O'Reilly moved over to the window and lit a cigarette, and Sam leaned back into the couch cushions, "Really? That's awful. Tell me about it?"

*

They were onto their third beer when Josh arrived in, lugging two bags of food and a pizza. He took in the line-up of cans and Sam's very relaxed expression, and raised his eyebrows, "Hey, Dev!" O'Reilly stood up and shook hands with Josh.

"Home detention, Josh?!" and they both turned to look down at Sam, who was staring into the middle distance, his eyes half closed.

"He really shouldn't be drinking, y'know, antibiotics and all."

"Sorry, I might be a bad influence there, not for the first time, right?!" O'Reilly grinned mischievously and pulled on his jacket. "Sam, day after tomorrow, I'll look into that, okay?"

Sam tried to get up off the couch but seemed to have sunk into the cushions, and O'Reilly patted his knee, "Stay there. Gotta get going." And he was off. Josh swung round from the door and frowned indulgently at his partner.

"Should you be drinking?"

Sam blinked at him fuzzily, "Um."

"Was there anything on the medicine labels about drinking?"

"Um." Sam just stared at him and a slow grin spread across his face, "Don't think so." He held his arms out expansively, "Hug?"

Josh felt his own lips curl into a reluctant smile and he came over and dropped onto the couch beside Sam, who wrapped his arms around him and leaned against his shoulder. Josh leaned in and kissed Sam's damp forehead.

"You still have a fever?"

"Nope, uh-uh, not a chance." Sam shook his head vigorously against Josh, coughing noisily. 

"You don't sound right yet."

"I'm – ah – " Sam yawned, "I'm fine." He sat up slightly and stared at his partner, his blue eyes attempting defiance but the lids drooped sleepily, "Jus' lil bit tired." He blinked heavily and Josh watched fascinated as the lids lifted and dropped more and more slowly, the dark lashes like tiny Japanese fans fluttering against Sam's cheeks, and Sam slowly slid back against him, totally relaxed in sleep, his arm draped across Josh's stomach. 

Josh sat there for a few minutes, enjoying the softness of Sam's limp body. Well, so much for talking tonight. He sighed. Sam's breathing was noisy. Slightly concerned, Josh slid out from beneath his partner, leaving Sam to sink into the sofa, dead to the world. Josh drifted out to the kitchen – Sam's antibiotics didn't mention anything but the cough medicine did say to avoid alcohol. He grimaced – was Sam taking that at the moment? He wasn't sure. He slid out a slice of pizza and grabbed a beer before padding back and switching on the television. He sat next to Sam's dark head, nestled in the cushions, and after he had eaten, his hand rested subconsciously on the damp hair as he watched the news.

* * *

 

Morning brought a hot and limp Sam struggling to even open his eyes, and Josh had ignored him completely until he was ready to leave, when he sat on the edge of the bed with a cold gel pack from the freezer. "This is for your head." He had kissed Sam gently on the tip of his nose and ignored the sad eyes. "I'll give you a call later, I'm taking your car, okay?" Sam had nodded, wincing, his eyes closing as his hot head resented any sort of movement. "You know now to stay away from any form of alcohol?" Another slight nod, eyes still closed. "Just do this before I go," and Josh had poked the thermometer into Sam's mouth, "Don't want Abby asking me if you had a fever and I hadn't even checked."

Sam looked at him, and he muttered 'sorry' around the tube in his mouth. They waited in silence, Sam's fingers crawling across the comforter to Josh's hand, and they both jumped at the electricity of skin contact. Sam's fingers were hot and they intertwined with Josh's tightly, the silence deafening until the thermometer beeped. Josh peered at the reading,

"One-oh-one point four. Dammit, Sam, what am I gonna do with you?"

Sam's eyes widened in surprise and hurt, and he bit his lower lip. "I thought I was better."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna have to stay here, right here, in bed. Okay?"

"How many times have you said that to me lately?" Sam's eyes were suddenly intensely blue in the early morning light

 

"I'll keep saying it unless you listen to me." Josh looked like he was going to say something else but he held back and kissed Sam gently, "See you later. I'll call before lunch, you can check your temp then, okay?"

Sam groaned in frustration and irritation, and he fell back into the pillows angrily, squinting against the pain in his head. "Dammit, Josh, I have a heap of work to do. I just can't spend another day at home. Couldn't I just come in for a while?" He made to get out of bed and Josh pushed him back easily with a hand against Sam's chest.

"Stay, for Pete's sake!" He eyed Sam fiercely, "You have to stay here, and I'm taking your keys again."

"Human rights, Josh!" Sam wailed. "I am a lawyer, you know."

Josh snorted, "What're you gonna charge me with, we're partners."

"Not a very convincing argument in this State, Joshua."

"One look at you and the judge'd award me full custody, Samuel."

Sam screwed up his face a little and scowled at his partner, "What if I need to go out for something?"

"You can't, babe. You're running a fever. Be honest here, how d'ya feel?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder, "Grotty, I guess. My head – I – I have a headache. Even my bones seem to ache."

"I rest my case." Josh leaned in and kissed Sam's moist forehead, "You had better not budge from here today. Y'hear me?" 

In response, Sam leaned back into the pillows and half-closed his eyes, somehow relieved that he didn't have to get up. His head thumped and echoed, strings of pain snaking through his feverish brain and his body shivered of its own accord. Josh watched him with concern for a moment, then he drew the covers up and patted Sam's chest, "Get some sleep, 'kay?"

"Sure."

* * *

And sleep Sam did, all of that day, rousing only to drink or visit the bathroom. Josh called regularly to keep tabs on his temperature, keeping Dr Bartlet up to date with his condition, and managing to prevent her barreling around to their apartment. She was concerned, but Josh knew that Sam would have died of embarrassment had she arrived at the door. Sam had remained a little feverish for all of that day and had been just plain exhausted the following morning. Josh had left him in bed yet again, promising to send home some work from Toby later in the morning.

Bonnie had arrived with some folders mid-morning, finding a wan Sam looking lonely in the apartment. Sam had settled at the table with her and they had worked solidly for a couple of hours, Bonnie trying to ignore his occasional coughs and wide yawns, but as they completed the fourth folder, she suddenly packed it all up.

"We haven't finished."

"Sorry, but you look tired. I had strict instructions – "

"You're joking, right?"

Bonnie shook her head and gave Sam a quick hug and a kiss. "Take care now. Maybe we'll see you tomorrow if you're feeling better." She left before Sam could plead and he lay down on the couch, miserable. He slept for a couple of hours.

* * *

The telephone rang shrilly in the quiet apartment, Sam jerking awake with surprise. He rolled over on the couch and croaked dryly,

"Sam Seaborn."

"Hey, Sam, it's Dev here. Wondered if I night catch you at home. Heard you're still under the weather. Things a bit rough?"

Sam coughed, and cleared his throat, "I'm okay. Had a few hassles dumping this fever, but I'm getting there. What's up?" He tried to speak as a yawn muffled his words, "How was New York?"

"Aw, did I wake you?"

"Forget it. Don't even know why I was sleeping. How come you're calling?"

"I heard there's this bookshop over past the Cheverly area that is some sort of front for the Klan – suggestions that the guy you're interested may actually be there at the moment, that his unit or whatever you call it may operate out of there. Thought I might swing by and just have a look-see. Wanna come?"

"I don't have a car – God, I don't even have keys."

"Heh! I can babysit you until Josh gets home!"

"Dev – " Sam coughed in embarrassment.

"No, look, this is stupid, you're still not so well. I'll go look then I'll pop by, give you a rundown of what I see."

"No! I want to come. I've been shut in here for days."

"Positive you're up for it?"

"We're just looking around, right?"

"Surely. Look, I'll swing by in – say – fifteen minutes."

Sam took a quick shower and dressed in jeans and a dark sweater. He gave Josh a quick call but got Donna,

"Hey, Sam, we really miss you. How are you?"

"I'm getting better, thanks. Can you tell Josh I'm just going out for a little drive with Devon O'Reilly, and I'll come in and get my keys on the way back?"

"Josh has your keys?"

"It's a long story, Donna. Can you just tell him – I gotta go."

"Sure."

Sam watched for Devon at the window, feeling like a child waiting to go play at a friend's house.

*

They parked in a quiet side street and headed back towards the address on foot. It was a shop front, a seemingly innocuous little bookstore, and they did a little casual browsing. There was a large swastika flag on the rear wall, a deterrent to most casual passers-by. Sam and Devon were disconcerted by the titles of the books – there was a recurrent theme of Nazi-related issues, the Aryan race, Purity of the People. There were books on the National Front, and Devon delved into one that led an attack on the historic evidence of Jews in American politics. 

After a while, when it seemed evident they weren't going to turn and leave because of the nature of the literature, they were approached by a slight but muscular young man dressed in tight black clothes. He had a heavily studded leather belt and wristbands, and he frowned at them, wrinkling a low forehead below a blond crewcut.

Sam was on the verge of smiling at the stereotype before him when he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure at the rear of the shop and paled suddenly. He grasped O'Reilly's sleeve and hissed at him,

"We gotta get outta here. That was HIM!"

O'Reilly's eyes swept over Sam's shocked face, "Jaysus, I'd think you'd be having me on, surely, but you're white as a ghost. Let's go then." Evading the approaching boot boy, the two men wove between shelves to the front of the store and slipped out, walking rapidly to their car. 

"Did he see you?" Devon already had a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

"It was like they already knew we were there!"

"Oh God!"

"What?"

"Surveillance cameras! They probably watched us park down the road." Devon began to walk faster, and within a minute they had turned into the side road where they had parked his car.

 

* * *

Devon and Sam looked at the slashed tyres and then looked at one another, and the Irishman chucked away his half-smoked cigarette and grinned tensely,

 

"I think, Samuel, that we may need to make a run for it."

Sam's eyes widened in horror and he glanced around the buildings in panic, "Where will we go?" 

"Follow me, California boy." O'Reilly took off surprisingly quickly, heading for a narrow alley between two buildings, Sam hot on his heels. There was an angry shout in the distance. They pounded through the litter-strewn corridor towards light at the far end, leaping deftly around old crates and broken furniture. They were twenty feet from the end when Sam tripped over a wire snaking out from an abandoned sofa. He tumbled forwards, hands outstretched, and slapped into the ground on his knees. O'Reilly grabbed him by the back of his jacket and hauled him up to continue their frantic pace, straight out of one alleyway and into another, adrenalin firing the two lawyers, who emerged from that dank corridor into a wide, abandoned lot, paved with huge slabs of fractured concrete, spindly grass seeping between the cracks. Feeling vulnerable in the open, and still grasping Sam's jacket, O'Reilly swept his younger friend across the open expanse towards the relative safety of a third alleyway. Sam was limping and gasping wildly, staggering along in the grip of his heftier companion, his breath screeching in and out, his whole focus on keeping up with Devon until they were safe. 

The third alley was shorter but littered more heavily with rubbish. They slowed towards the end, a busy street evident ahead of them, and Devon stopped Sam and propped him against the blackened brick wall. Both leaned there, desperately dragging in oxygen.

"Gotta …give up… smoking…. so much," panted O'Reilly ruefully, spitting into the shadows. He straightened and took a good look at Sam, who had closed his eyes, trying to regulate the wild wheezing that had taken up residence in his lungs. "Sammy? You gonna be okay? We need to move again, find somewhere safe to sit down." He put a reassuring hand on Sam's heaving shoulder. "Think you can keep moving?"

Sam felt an almost overwhelming desire to just stop trying. He was exhausted and the pain in his lungs was intense. He could hear the vile wheeze in his in and out breaths, but knew they had to keep going. He straightened and opened his eyes. O'Reilly was startled by the hugeness of his pupils, the blue barely evident. He put both hands on Sam's shoulders and stared closely at him.

"Just around the corner, there's a coffee shop. We'll go there, catch our breath, right?"

Sam just nodded and Devon took him firmly by the upper arm. Sam realised at that moment that his knee was also sore but it just didn't seem to matter right then. They slipped out of the alley and into the stream of foot traffic until they reached a dimly lit milk bar. They took a back booth, O'Reilly facing the street, and Sam rested his head in his hands, his breath still wheezing loudly. The waitress came over with a coffee pot and stared curiously at Sam's dark head.

"He all right?"

"I think he's having an asthma attack," O'Reilly was apologetic, "It happens suddenly sometimes. I guess he'll be fine when he catches his breath?"

"Poor guy. My Rachael gets those sometimes." She leaned towards Sam, "You had it long?" Sam shook his head jerkily. She laid a warm hand on his shoulder, "You got your inhaler with you, love?"

He sat up a little, nodding, and dug in his pocket, retrieving the relief inhaler. The waitress smiled and patted his shoulder, "Atta boy. You take that, and I'll get you a glass of water. I know how scratchy you c'n feel. You boys want anything to eat?"

O'Reilly gave her a warm smile, "No, we're fine thanks."

She moved away and Sam took a dose of his inhaler. He leaned his head on one hand and waited. Devon sipped his coffee then sat back, "Well, that was just crap, wasn't it?"

Sam nodded, and smiled wanly at the waitress as she brought him water.

"Better?"

He nodded again, and she patted his shoulder once more before drifting up the aisle.

Sam's breath was still raucous but he looked less pale than he had in the alley. He lifted his whole torso with each raspy breath and Devon grimaced,

"Shite, Sam, Josh is going to go ape-shit over this one. You weren't even meant to be out of the apartment." He bit his lip apologetically, but brightened, "Hey, we did see the guy though, right?"

Sam nodded, still unable to speak, and O'Reilly pulled out his cell phone, "Whom should we call – your agent people?" Sam nodded again and fished out his own phone, selecting a speed dial number and handing the instrument over to the other man resignedly. After a lengthy conversation, O'Reilly handed the phone back. "They're onto it, Sammy boy. And now, you get onto that coffee, because someone's coming to collect us in about ten minutes."

Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Sam, chasing one of the President's Senior Staff through alleyways, and slashing the tyres of his vehicle, these things are not looked upon as good things by the Secret Service."

Sam began to cough, leaning over and wrapping his arms around his chest, his eyes soon streaming with the effort to get in enough air. O'Reilly stared at him with concern and the waitress came over as well. She could see at a glance that Devon didn't have a clue what to do so she put down her coffee pot and slid in beside Sam, putting her arms around him and easing him into a straight sitting position, leaning forward slightly, and then she rubbed his back, making soothing noises. Sam's eyes were closed. He didn't resist her ministrations, and O'Reilly watched with interest as the coughs eased a little and they were quickly back to the quieter wheezing. The waitress stayed there for a minute, supporting Sam until he seemed less panicky, then she gave him a little hug,

"You poor thing, you need to get to the doctor."

Devon stood up and handed her a few notes, "Thanks for your care, ma'am. I'll take him to the doc right away."

She helped Sam up, and it was only then, without the adrenalin rush, that he realised how sore his knee was, and he staggered slightly, the buxom waitress gathering him in her arms again. "My, you are in the wars, are you hurt?"

He shrugged vaguely and O'Reilly moved in to get an arm around him, "He just tripped over on our way in here. Thanks again, ma'am." She reluctantly released Sam and they both thanked her one more time before leaving the relative safety of the coffee bar for the government car that was pulling in over the road. 

* * *

Sam sat sideways on the gurney in the ER, idly swinging his legs, his bruised knee neatly bandaged. He glanced around, irritable now, although he knew that was partly from the oxygen trickling in through the soft mask over his mouth and nose. He was also not looking forward to the moment when Josh appeared at the cubicle doorway, and he secretly hoped that there was some national crisis which could keep Josh in the office, at least until he could get rid of the mask and back home into some clean clothes. His torn pants were streaked with black from the alleyway, and his shoes had been gingerly wrapped in plastic by a tentative nurse aide.

Sam was tired beyond belief but he didn't want to lie back and risk falling asleep, he needed to be on his guard. His chest ached fiercely, and he was still smarting somewhat from the lecture the registrar had given him about physical exertion after a bout of pneumonia. His temperature was up too, and he was scared they might want to admit him. He shivered involuntarily and rubbed his arms to warm himself. The cool oxygen was leaving him a little light-headed and he took the mask off for a minute, listening to the quiet rasp of his breathing, resenting his own body just then. He frowned. Devon had been great but after making endless statements to the Service, and being assured that Sam would be fine, he had gone home to his own family, not wanting to run into any of the Staffers at that moment. Sam dearly wished he could have gone with him.

He heard a commotion in the corridor and next moment there was Josh, coat flapping, tie loose, hair wild. He stood there and stared – they both stared, and as if in slow motion Sam put the mask down on the bed and held out his arms to his partner. Josh took a couple of halting steps into the cubicle before stopping and staring accusingly,

"You were supposed to be at home." He dug in his pockets, and withdrew Sam's keys. "You were supposed to Be. At. Home." He took another step into the cubicle, and at his tone, Sam slowly lowered his arms. Josh hadn't finished, "What more can I do to slow you down? Damn you!" He pocketed the keys again and paced in a circle, waving his arms, " I was so worried about you. I – I don't want anything to happen to you. But how can I get you better?" His voice was pleading and Sam suddenly realised that Josh was concerned about him. Really concerned. Josh was upset. Sam wrung his hands in confusion. He looked down at his sock-clad toes swinging halfway to the floor and once more felt like a small boy for a moment, mulling over the thoughts crowding in his head. Josh wanted to help. Josh wanted him to get better.

Sam risked a quick glance at his partner, "I thought." His voice was croaky, and very small, "I – I thought maybe you were sick of me being sick." 

"Well, I am."

Sudden hurt sprang into Sam's blue eyes, and he stared, "You are? Sick of me?"

Josh took another step forward, "I'm sick of you being sick." His tone softened at the look in Sam's eyes, "But not of you! I'd never be sick of you." He came closer and Sam lifted his arms again. This time Josh leaned into his embrace and they kissed, then hugged one another tightly until Sam broke them apart coughing. Josh picked up the abandoned mask and placed it back over Sam's face. Blue eyes peered at him over the rim of the mask, and a hand reached out to hold his tightly. He entwined his fingers with Sam's as Sam spoke, his voice muffled,

"Can you get me out of here?"

"I'll see what I can do!"

* * *

Tim Woods pocketed his stethoscope with a sigh and sat down on the edge of the ER gurney. Sam watched him carefully.

"I just don't see how you could run through dark alleyways, throw yourself over broken furniture, get yourself into a state of complete panic, stretch your lungs way beyond their current limited capacity, have an asthma attack, run a temp and then sit there and ask if you could just go home. Mightn't all of this have been avoided if you had just stayed home?"

Sam writhed with embarrassment and ducked his head a little, "Um, yeah, guess so."

Tim was only warming up, "Apparently my registrar has already given you a rocket about your stupidity, but I feel obliged to have my say as well. Sam, I've seen you in here several times over the last few months, and much as I like you, I don't want you here."

Sam stared at his hands.

The doctor continued, "You need to think this through. This fever you're running, it's indicative of your body needing more rest. You can't keep subjecting it to this sort of strain."

"I had no idea we'd run into trouble –"

The doctor held up a hand, "Stop right there, because I talked to Josh out there, I know you tried to go for a run the other day. I know what you've been up to and it's GOT TO STOP." He was suddenly shouting and Sam leaned back a little under the onslaught. "YOU HAVE TO GET WELL. Oh God, sorry, but honestly, you're supposed to be a brilliant man, get this into that thick skull of yours, you need to stay away from the gym, from running, from difficult situations, from cold and from water. GOT THAT?" Sam nodded fearfully, his hand snaking unconsciously towards his unused stomach muscles, and Tim saw that too, "You are not to be concerned with fitness or weight gain or loss or anything that isn't related to healing your damaged lungs. GOT THAT?" Sam nodded again, his eyes huge over the oxygen mask, his cheeks reddening slightly, and the doctor hissed out a tense sigh. He had come to know Sam and Josh well, had become fascinated by their relationship, their closeness, the fierce electricity that filled a room when they were together. He had enjoyed serious talks with both of them, trying to understand the extraordinary pull of the West Wing that kept them working so incredibly hard, day in, day out. Several times he had sat with Josh long into the night, both of them leaning tiredly against Sam's bed, discussing politics and medicine, as they waited for Sam to battle one breathing crisis or another. He had watched Josh care for his gentle but stubborn partner with admirable patience, and he had watched Sam take on Josh's stresses and calm him down with the tiniest of gestures, the most appropriate of words. 

Woods shook himself. Sam was watching him curiously, his head slightly on one side. Tim moved closer and took Sam's temperature with the instant thermometer. Sam watched him hopefully, but at the look on Tim's face, he pouted into the mask.

"It's still up, isn't it."

"'Fraid so. One-oh-two. We're going to need to see why you're spiking these fevers. I suspect you have a slight infection, so I'd like to put you on some IV antibiotics overnight. You could go home later tomorrow though, if you've cooled off."

Sam's shoulders dropped dejectedly, and he lifted the mask off, "I had so much work to do. Couldn't I just take some pills home with me?"

"Not at this stage. Anyway, you still sound pretty ragged. I couldn't possibly justify letting you outta here."

Sam thumped back into the pillows with irritation and blinked at the wall beside the gurney. Tim waited for him to gain a little equilibrium. After a moment, Sam's blue eyes turned back to him, and Tim frowned at the shadows around Sam's eyes. 

"Yeah, sorry, Sam, but I'm admitting you to my ward. You look really tired, and that's no way to beat this." He squeezed Sam's shoulder. "I'll go get the paperwork started before I go home. See you upstairs, okay?"

Sam nodded and closed his eyes as Tim slipped out into the ER to find Josh. Sam felt completely spent and let his body sink into the mattress. Now that he had been forced to stay, he realised that he was almost grateful for the imposed rest. He didn't seem to know how to do that for himself. He felt cold and sore, his whole chest aching fiercely with every breath, and his head thumping painfully. Just one night, that wasn't so bad, really.

When Josh came back in, Sam was asleep, still propped up high against the pillows, his breath rasping noisily beneath the mask. Josh sat down and took Sam's limp hand in his own, and did a little thinking.

* * *

Back on what was now a familiar ward, Josh stepped into Sam's hospital room just as Tim Woods was listening to Sam's breathing one more time. He came over to the side of the bed and took Sam's hand again, smoothing his other hand over his partner's hair. Tim smiled at him, his eyes betraying his concentration. He indicated that Sam lean forward and he then placed the stethoscope on Sam's back. The only sounds were the hiss of oxygen and the raspiness of Sam's breathing, and Josh leaned in, planting a slow and loving kiss on his partner's forehead. Sam's eyes closed and he smiled slightly, a weary, feverish smile that Josh knew so well.

Tim straightened and folded his stethoscope, then grinned at Josh, "You know I'm gonna have to keep him from you." He automatically eased Sam back against the raised pillows.

Josh sighed, "I know. I knew it the minute I saw him." They both looked at Sam, whose eyes were still closed. 

Tim put a hand on Sam's shoulder, "He's on IV antibiotics. I'm worried though, he seems exhausted." Sam's eyes cracked open a little, a thin slit of blue, and he frowned slightly.

"I'm okay," he whispered.

Josh ignored him, "He hasn't been sleeping too well, even with heaps of bed rest."

Tim nodded, "It's hard to rest when your body's having its own little internal battle."

Josh's hand tightened its grip on Sam's, "There've been other things too – work related things that haven't been so pleasant. Sam's been threatened and followed, hence today's little – escapade." Sam coughed loudly, displacing the nasal cannula and Tim automatically readjusted it.

"I guess it's been a rougher time than I thought. Well, I'm gonna head off now, but I'll be back mid-morning. I'm not letting him go unless I'm sure he's ready to be let loose."

Sam frowned again but was too sleepy to argue. Tim left. Josh slipped off his shoes and climbed up beside Sam, avoiding the various lines. Sam settled in, leaning against his chest and Josh wrapped his arms around him. Sam took hold of Josh's hands, warm in his embrace,

"Tell me about your day."

So Josh talked, and Sam listened, making occasional comments, rocking them both with intermittent coughs, his head tucked in against Josh's shoulder. After half an hour, Josh felt Sam's head grow heavier, and Sam's body softened against his, and he knew Sam was nearly asleep. He slowed his speech and lowered his voice, tricks he had learned from years of having a partner that wasn't good at getting to sleep. Sam's breathing slowed accordingly and his hands relaxed over Josh's. 

There was no way Josh was going to move just yet, so he eased himself into the most comfortable position he could without disturbing Sam and let his own body relax. Sam was safe in his arms. He wasn't in a rush to go anywhere.

* * *

Ron Butterfield stopped Josh in the West Wing lobby,

"How's Sam?"

"He's back in the hospital."

"Yeah. But how's he doing?"

Josh shrugged, "He's kinda tired. Why? What's happened?"

"FBI picked up the guy."

Josh frowned. He was tired too, six-thirty in the morning, and he hadn't left Sam until well after midnight. "The guy?" he repeated.

"The Klan guy. Sam's intruder."

"Oh!" Josh's eyes widened as the information sank in, "Oh, that's great!" Ron gestured to the hallway behind them,

"Come to Leo's office?" They headed in that direction.

"So he was still in the bookshop?"

"Well, close by when we arrived – we still had to wait for the Feds to come in, and he's in their custody now."

"That's great. Morning, Margaret!"

She was shrugging out of her coat, "How's Sam doing?"

"He's – well, I left him in the hospital. He's tired, and his temperature keeps spiking."

"Poor Sam, he must've come back to work too soon."

Ron indicated Leo's open door, "Can we go in?"

"Sure, he'll be back any minute. I passed him down the hall." Ron and Josh sat down on the couch in Leo's office and Ron cleared his throat,

"So, with Sam, this the same thing he had up in New Hampshire?"

"Well, I think it's just after-effects really. He probably should have taken a fortnight off or something. Like Hell'd freeze over!" he snorted. "Hey, Leo!"

"How's Sam?" Leo barrelled into the office, clutching a wad of papers. 

"He's, well, he was admitted to the ward again."

"Aw, shit, poor kid."

"I left him there after midnight. He might be able to come home later today, I dunno."

"Could he be out, say, mid-afternoon?"

Josh's eyes narrowed, "What's going on?"

Ron swivelled to sit facing Josh, "We need him to attend a line-up, an identity parade – if we want him to be charged in New Hampshire, Sam needs to ID the guy for us."

"What time is it?"

"I'd set one up once I knew for sure Sam could make it."

Josh rubbed his eyes, "You'd have to talk to his doctor, Tim Woods. He's not on until later this morning, I think."

Ron stood up, "I'll get back to you."

After he had gone, Leo looked at Josh, "You okay yourself?"

"Yeah." Josh sighed. "He was so disappointed, Leo. He tried not to show it but he was, I could tell."

"He'll get through it."

"He's so impatient though."

Leo grinned thinly, "Maybe he'll need an Executive Order to get some R&R after this."

"Not a bad idea." Josh stood up, "I better talk to Toby."

* * *

Sam lay still in the bed, listening to the all-too-familiar sounds of ward activity. He was feeling awfully tired, a crushing weariness that prevented him even sitting up to look out of the window. His head ached terribly and his chest was sore as well. He closed his hands into irritated fists then uncurled his fingers again, scraping his nails along the crisp whiteness of the sheets. The IV tugged gently, reminding him not to make any sudden moves, and he nearly wailed aloud in frustration. He so hated being trapped here, his mind racing but his body unable to come to the party. He was worried about Toby and the workload his absences must be putting on him, and he was worried about his own work and all of the projects he was halfway through. And he was worried about Josh, who was here when he fell asleep the previous night but had gone in the morning. 

Josh gave Sam something he didn't have himself, a sense of something almost intangible – Sam let his mind waft about wondering exactly what it was that Josh brought to their relationship that was so special… and he realised that it was the spontaneity, the special excitement that Josh carried with him into a room, any room. Josh's eyes were always alight with plans and ideas, and Sam loved that challenge to do the different thing, the unexpected thing, that Josh seemed to present so often. 

He wondered what Josh was doing right now, and decided rather irrationally to go see him. Feeling thoroughly irritable, Sam slowly sat up, lifting his head, lead-like, off the pillow. He had to get out of the ward, get some clothes and get to work, in fact get some clothes first then get off the ward. Yeah, that sounded sensible. He carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed and drew his IV pole a little closer. He eyed it warily. That was annoying, he needed to get rid of that at some stage. Maybe he could just take it with him… Sam swiped his hand over his forehead and shivered. He definitely needed a sweater. He tested his sore knee and found it okay. Wheeling the pole along, Sam crossed the room and looked into the little wardrobe – there were his clothes, neatly folded in a pile on a shelf down near the base. He thoughtfully unhooked the IV bag and laid it on the floor then bent down to fetch his clothes. His head reeled suddenly and the wardrobe seemed to spin away from him. Sam reached out to catch it and missed, falling, his shoulder crashing against the wardrobe door. He slid to the floor with a loud crash, the flimsy structure tumbling down on top of him. Buried beneath the wooden shelving, Sam could only sense a swirling dizziness. 

"Ow!" he croaked, wondering how he was going to get dressed now. He didn't really feel so well.

A nurse, two aides and a couple of curious patients came rushing into the room to investigate the crash and they all stopped and stared in amazement at the scene of destruction in the corner of the hospital room. One of the aides lifted the wooden wardrobe away from Sam and the other two staffers bent down to look at him. The nurse tapped him on the cheekbone,

"Sam! You awake in there?" Her hand rested on his cheek and she glanced at the aide, "He's roasting hot – must be running a huge temp. Better get Tim in here." She turned back to the patient, and felt around for his IV line, carefully closing it off. "Sam, can you hear me?"

Sam's eyes twitched and he slowly turned his head from side to side. "Dressed," he muttered. There was a large bump swelling up on his forehead.

"No, I think we need to get you back to bed, all right?" Sam shrugged slightly, and so the nurse and the nurse aide lifted him gently to his feet. He swayed drunkenly and they steered him over to the bed by the window. They could feel the heat burning an aura around him, and the aide raised her eyebrows,

"Whoa, he's giving off sunshine, isn't he?"

"Must have spiked a fever again. God knows why he did what he did!" They helped him to slide in between the cool sheets. He lay back on the pillow and gazed at them foggily, coughing and shivering,

"Cold in here."

The nurse took his temperature as the aide clunked the security rails into place. Sam watched them through half-slit eyes. He wondered where Toby was, as they had a lot of work to get through. He asked the nurse a couple of times but she didn't reply, frowning instead at the thermometer and muttering to the aide.

A couple of minutes later Tim Woods strolled over to Sam's bed and smiled gently down at his confused face,

"Your temp is way up and I'm afraid you're not going anywhere right now."

"I really need to talk to Toby." He coughed loudly, then apologised, "Sorry."

"You know where you are, Sam?"

Sam looked around a little surprised then frowned, "Damn! I'm - … I thought …" his voice trailed away and he pouted. "I was looking for Toby. Was he here?"

"I don't think so, but I can give him a call, would that help?"

"I'd really appreciate that. See if he needs me to do some work, okay?"

Tim grinned warmly at his feverish patient and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll get back to you. Now please just stay put. We'll need to get that IV going again." He whipped out his stethoscope and listened to Sam's chest. His face didn't convey any emotion but the nurse could see he was a little perturbed by the sounds he heard. He wrote some instructions on the chart and showed them to her, and she nodded, immediately reattaching the IV and increasing the flow. Tim peered at the bump on Sam's forehead, "Is this the only injury?"

"Oh, goodness, I'm not sure. He was moving all right, but I completely forgot to check him over." 

Tim placed a hand against Sam's cheek, capturing his attention, "Are you hurting anywhere other than your head, Sam?" Sam's eyelids were growing heavy again, and he shook his head slightly, then stopped,

"Maybe my back. I think I hurt my back, when that thing fell on me."

Tim and the nurse eased him forward and rolled up his hospital gown. There was a huge red welt across his right side which was already swollen and turning black and blue. The nurse sighed and went for an ice pack. Tim settled Sam back a little and leaned his forearms on the rail.

"You really are a most difficult patient!"

* * *

It was a quarter past four, and Josh had brought Sam some comfortable clothes. Sam leaned forward somewhat gingerly, 

 

"Can you undo these stupid ties?"

Josh loosened the hospital gown, getting his first glimpse of the thick welt across Sam's back, "Jeez, that's gonna hurt when you move." He ran a very gentle fingertip along the raised and puffy flesh, a myriad of colours leaking out into Sam's pale skin. Sam grimaced and dragged off the gown, carefully pulling on a loose t-shirt and sweater. Josh handed him boxers, which he slipped on while still sitting in the bed, but he had to swing around out of the sheets to don the track pants Josh held aloft, and that made him squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, as the pain from his back twanged at his nerves.

"Sore?"

Sam bit his lip, "Ah, yeah." He slid into a standing position, Josh tenderly adjusting his clothes, and helping him into a pair of canvas deck shoes. 

"You're not gonna like coming back here, are you?"

"Uh-uh." Sam took Josh's hand in his own, his blue eyes red-rimmed and tired, and he peered into Josh's brown eyes earnestly, "Thanks. So much. I'm really sorry, for all of this."

Josh grinned, "Must be the fever talking! C'mon, lets get you down to the Police Station."

* * *

Sam shivered in the unexpected chill of the twilight air, and he leaned a little closer to Josh, who already had an arm around him. They crossed the car park slowly, heading for the car.

"Hey, that's my car!"

"I wanted you to be comfortable!"

"Crap! You wanted to drive my car!" Sam coughed heavily, and Josh stopped until the spasm was over. "My… car! Mine!" Sam spluttered, his eyes watering. Josh just grinned and patted Sam consolingly on the back.

As they drove out of the car-park, Josh had one of those eerie sensations where the hair prickled on the back of his neck – he glanced in the rear-view mirror at the car that had left at the same time as theirs. "Sam?"

"Huh?"

"I have this weird feeling – you think – there's any possibility – " He shrugged, "Nah, don't worry."

Sam frowned at him in consternation, "What?"

"It's just – there's a car behind us, came out at the same time as us. It's still with us."

"You're kidding!" Sam swung around, immediately wincing at the movement, "Damn!" he gasped, "Forgot about that!" He coughed desperately for a moment, then peered at the car behind them in the dusky light. "I can't see much – it's a dark colour. Think we should pull over or something?"

"Not on your life. We'll try to lose 'em."

"Josh! This isn't some spy movie."

Josh shrugged, glancing constantly in the rear-view mirror. "I'll just take a turn here, see what happens." He swung right without indicating, and the car quickly spun and followed them. The two men glanced at one another, eyes wide.

"Try another turn. Back the way we came."

Josh took another right, and the car followed, and seemed to creep a little closer. He let out a shaky breath, realising he had been holding it in as they turned, and Sam must have been doing the same, because he began to cough and cough, hunching over in the seat to try and gasp in some air between explosions. Josh patted his back for a moment before turning again. The car stayed right with them.

Making a decision, Josh pulled out his phone, "I'm gonna call Leo."

"No – you're – driving!" Sam gasped. "Let me." He took the small phone and hit the speed dial for Leo's number.

"McGarry."

"It's Sam." He coughed again, holding the phone away from his face, and Josh, rolling his eyes, took it off him.

"It's Josh, Leo. We're on our way to the Station and it looks like someone's following us."

"What? Where are you now?"

"I – um – " Josh peered around. "Oh, you there? We're – Leo?" He held the phone away and shook it gently. Then he tried again, "Leo?"

"What's happened?"

"Phone died or something." Josh passed it to Sam, who tried a few buttons.

"Josh, you know how I charge up the phones at night?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"Shit."

"Oookay. What now, Mr Bond?"

Josh glanced back again, "They're still there. Think we could drive straight to the station?" Just then, the car pulled out and zoomed forward, pulling up level with their own, on Sam's side, and he caught a glimpse of what looked like a weapon.

"Oh God! Josh, look out!" There was a flash in the dull light as Josh accelerated and the window behind Sam smashed. Josh swung the car around in a sudden u-turn and headed off rapidly in the other direction. Sam was coughing madly with the shock, and Josh could feel his own body trembling violently. He grasped the wheel with sweaty palms, his fingers twitching, and tried to concentrate on the road, his head spinning. Sam gasped and choked beside him, and there was a cold rush of air through the broken window. Josh's mind was reeling, where could they go to get out of the car quickly?

The other car was just turning around, a block back, and Josh knew he had to put some space between them as quickly as possible. He also knew he had to protect Sam, his Sam, still so unwell beside him, not even discharged from the hospital yet. Josh squinted with the pressure of the moment, and made a rapid decision.

"You're right – we'll go to the Station, flashing lights and horn wailing, surely they won't touch us there." He glanced hopefully at Sam, who had slowly sat up, his face pale. 

"But – " Sam tried to clear his throat, "they know that's where we're going. They can cut us off."

"Well, let's get right out of town, call Leo from some phone booth and get help from there."

Sam leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes for a moment. "Sure," he whispered. Josh took another couple of quick turns and they soon could see that they had lost their pursuers for now, and they drove relatively peacefully out of D.C. But neither man felt relaxed. Josh's insides were churning and he felt like he had swallowed a bucket of butterflies. He didn't imagine Sam was feeling any better. Sam was staring ahead, his hands balled into fists, his knuckles white. After about ten minutes they both sighed at the same time.

"I think we completely lost them."

"Thank God!" Sam coughed again, a scratchy, painful sounding cough, and Josh winced.

"How're you feeling?" 

Sam looked at him wearily, "Cold. That window, and everything, I think I might be spiking again." He shuddered.

"Damn!"

Sam hunched down in the seat and closed his eyes, trying to fight the mounting fever. Josh glanced at him worriedly. There was a sheen of sweat across Sam's forehead and he looked strained. Josh could only imagine what the intermittent fevers were doing to Sam's tired body. He drove on in silence for another fifteen minutes before pulling into a small shopping centre. There was a car park around the back and he eased the car in between two four-wheel drive vehicles. He sat back and buried his face in his hands for a moment, just trying to calm his screaming nerves. There was a tentative hand on his shoulder,

"Josh?" He dragged his fingers away from his eyes, and turned sideways. An intense but confused blue was staring at him out of red-rimmed eyes, and Josh smiled shakily.

"We need to get to a phone. Call Leo." He leaned across and put his arms around Sam. The heat emanating from his body was unmistakeable and Sam pressed hard into Josh's embrace, one arm snaking around to hold him as well. As Sam continued to shiver, Josh roused himself, "C'mon, let's get out of this cold car!"

They climbed out cautiously, still nervous, finding their legs unsteady. They were both shaken by their experience, and they embraced again in front of the car before turning towards the bank of stores. Josh took a firm hold of Sam's upper arm as they made their way between two shops, and found a telephone booth almost at once. Josh called Leo while Sam kept a vaguely watchful eye on the road. 

Josh emerged, smiling grimly, "He's sending some agents out to escort us back. I gave him a description of the car, but because we missed the line-up, they had to let our guy go."

"Oh no!"

"He's been warned fairly harshly to stay out of Virginia. They're going to escort him to the state line!"

"Does that mean we'll be okay?" 

"Leo thinks so, for now. Let's get a coffee." He steered Sam into a coffee lounge and they sat in a corner. Sam was panting with the heat of the fever, although his body shuddered intermittently as well. He gazed at Josh, his eyes brimming with sudden hot tears.

"I'm so, so sorry, I never thought any of this could happen. I never wanted you to be in any danger…" A tear escaped and slid down one cheek.

Josh swiped it away, and smiled gently, "That fever's mucking around with your emotions."

Another tear slid out and Sam closed his eyes, embarrassed. His lashes were wet, droplets like morning dew glistening on the ends, and he inhaled a shaky breath. Josh slid around the table and drew Sam into an embrace, "My poor, sickly, hot buddy." He kissed the top of Sam's dark head. "We're okay now." He glanced around nervously over the top of Sam's head all the same, glad the lounge was empty. The waitress brought Josh's coffee and Sam's iced water, and she stared curiously at Sam, who was now leaning tiredly on one hand, high spots of fever burning his cheeks, the rest of his face white. 

The agents arrived another thirty minutes later, and they bustled the two men into a large car, electing to drive Sam's car back themselves. Josh and Sam leaned into the soft seats and tried to relax as they were ferried back into D.C.

Leo was waiting in the foyer of the West Wing, pacing like a caged lion, while Toby sat, attempting to appear relaxed, but his fingers were drumming incessantly on the arm of the chair and his dark eyes followed Leo, back and forth, back and forth…

"There they are." Josh and Sam were accompanied into the foyer by two of the agents and delivered to Leo. He was taken aback by their appearance. Both men were pale and dishevelled, their eyes haunted. And Sam, Sam was wavering slightly in Josh's grasp, his breathing noisy in the sudden silence. Toby stood up and took Sam's other arm and he felt the heat immediately. He cocked an eyebrow at Josh, who nodded tiredly.

Leo took in the whole scene, "You all better come back to my office, then we'll get Sam back to the hospital, eh?"

* * *

They had finished their debrief, and Ron had just cleared out when Jed came in. Josh and Toby stood, both placing a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep him sitting.

"Josh!" Jed Bartlet embraced his Deputy Chief of Staff warmly. "You thinking of taking on a career as a spy?"

Josh reddened slightly, "I can't imagine so, Sir. Perhaps I could get a position driving the getaway car for someone!" They all laughed as Jed turned his attention to Sam, who was squinting up at him.

"Sam." He sat down in Josh's place and put a hand on Sam's knee. "I'm sorry that this job put you in such a dangerous position."

Sam stared at him, "Oh, please don't be sorry, Mr President, I - it's – ah - " he stopped and frowned, clearly confused with his own words. "What was I saying?" He swiped a hand over his forehead, blinking. His breath was coming in small puffs, and his eyes were slightly unfocused.

Toby rubbed at his own forehead, "He's a little out of it, Mr President, he's running a fever again."

Jed grinned, "Three daughters, and a wife a doctor, I know a fever when I see one!" He looked up at Josh, "Was he discharged from the ward?"

"No. We're supposed to be heading back there now."

"Good." Jed had laid a cool hand against Sam's brow, "He sure is giving off heat-waves. You take care now, Sam, don't come back until you're really well again, right?"

Sam nodded under his hand, and Jed and Toby hoisted him to his feet, everybody noticing the way he screwed up his face in pain.

"What's wrong with him now?"

Josh smiled wearily, "He had a little accident, on the ward, before we even came out. He hurt his back."

"Jeez, that kid's a klutz!" Leo grinned at the President knowingly.

Toby rolled his eyes and stretched, "I'll take you guys back."

* * *

Tim Woods shook his head resignedly from behind the counter at the nurses' station as he watched Josh and Toby escort Sam out of the elevator and in his direction. He thought they all looked rather pale and tense, and he wondered what was going on at the White House just now.

Toby was the first to catch his eye, "Can we just put him into bed then talk?" Tim looked into Toby's eyes and saw something akin to desperation, and he quickly led them towards Sam's room. There was a clean hospital gown on the bed, and Josh efficiently stripped Sam of his street clothes and slipped him into the gown. Sam was silent, as if the effort to speak was too much now. He coughed a couple of times, wincing as the movement pulled at his back, and Toby drew in a tense gasp as he saw the damage Sam had done to himself there. A nurse sidled in and worked around the three men, efficiently reconnecting Sam's IV and bathing his face and hands with cool water. Tim reconnected the oxygen cannula and slipped that into place too, "Just to give you a rest, Sam."

A few minutes later, Josh, Toby and Tim sat down in the Doctors' Lounge and talked about the events of the past few hours. Tim paled at the thought of these gentle, brilliant men being shot at and he felt his own bile rise as Josh described their fear and panic. He muttered about the world and how it was becoming such a dangerous place, and found himself being reassured by the two Senior Staffers, who had come through so many crises in their time with President Bartlet.

When Josh slipped back into Sam's room, he found his partner awake but sleepy, his hands lethargic on the bed, his head too heavy to lift off the pillow. He smiled wanly and Josh saw his fingers twitch ever so slightly.

He grinned, "Is that the best you can do? I want a hug!" Sam's mouth tweaked into a very small smile, and he lifted one hand. Josh sat on the bed and took that hand in his own, leaning in to kiss his partner. "You can maybe come home tomorrow, okay?" Sam nodded and his smile widened a little. Josh leaned closer and embraced Sam, the relief suddenly flooding through them both, and they clung to one another, easing each other through the trauma of their escape. 

A little while later, CJ arrived in the doorway. Josh was sprawled in a visitor's chair, fast asleep, and Sam was leaning forward in the bed, throwing up in a small disposable container. CJ winced at the sound, but carried on into the room, bravely bringing Sam a damp cloth that was hanging over the basin by the door. He smiled wanly and she patted him on the shoulder until he was finished. Then she dumped the bowl in the sink and returned to give him a huge hug.

"Oh God, Sam, we were so worried about you. And I didn't get to see you when you got back. How're you now?" She sat right on the bed and held his hand. Sam leaned back into the pillows and gazed at her, enjoying her warmth, her wonderful feminine presence after the chaos that had been his day. He shivered slightly and she immediately pulled up a blanket from the end of the bed, tucking it around him. 

"Thanks, Ceej." His voice was a little hoarse.

"What d'you need?"

"I'm fine. Well," he hastily amended as she rolled her eyes, "I'm looked after here, but could you take Josh home? He shouldn't sleep like that." He looked across at Josh's slumped figure. "He'll be awfully stiff in the morning."

"How come you're not asleep?"

He waved a hand in the direction of the bowl. "I was but I felt sick. It's just the drugs, I think. Or the fever." He shrugged. "How was your day?"

"A lot better than yours. Aw, Sam, I'm so sorry you're sick again, I know how much you hate it."

Sam lifted one shoulder non-committally, "I'll be okay." He grimaced as his stomach rolled over again and CJ hastily reached for a clean container, but he managed to hold on. "Please take him home. I'll pretend to be asleep, okay?"

"You sure?"

"If he knows I'm doing this," he waved the bowl, "he'll stay all night." Sam settled into the pillows and closed his eyes. He opened one and winked at CJ, and she leaned in to kiss him on the forehead.

"See you in the morning, honey," she whispered. A ghost of a smile drifted across his tired face as CJ turned to Josh. She gently woke him and convinced him to go home with her. He stopped and also kissed Sam on the forehead, and the two slipped out of the room, CJ glancing back to see a thumbs-up from Sam.

He lay there, exhausted, suddenly lonely, and he pressed a hand against his stomach to quell the battle going on in there. Sam was still feverish, and his eyes were heavy. A nurse came in, noticing the container in the sink, and she it disposed of it. She approached the bed, and smiled at him, "Hey. You're sick again?" Sam nodded. "Much?"

"Not really." She checked the bowl in his hand, relieved to see it was still empty.

"Maybe we can get you something for that, it's the last thing you needed tonight." She took his vital signs and recorded the information on his chart. "You need sleep, Sam, and lots of it. I'll get you something to settle your stomach, and then you can try and snuggle down, get some rest. Okay?"

Sam smiled at the word 'snuggle' – it didn't sound like official medical talk but he liked the sentiment, and he decided it would be very nice to sleep for a few hours and escape the horrors of the day. The nurse tucked the bedclothes around his shoulders and lowered the bed head a fraction.

"I think Tim's still around, he can take a look at you before he leaves." She slipped out and Sam lay there for a couple of minutes before the nausea rose again and he sat up painfully, once more losing his stomach contents into the small container. Tim arrived before the end of that, and he stood beside Sam, a warm hand on his back, taking the container from his shaky hands once he had finished. 

"Right, I can see why you're needing something to put a stop to that!" Sam groaned and lay back, his face miserable. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions, and then gazed at Tim, who was drying his hands. The doctor came back and sat on the bed. He smiled at Sam sympathetically and sighed, "What am I going to do with you, Sam Seaborn?" It was an affectionate question and he patted Sam's leg through the bedclothes. "Look, you're having a rough time just now, but you'll get through this, you're strong enough, fit enough, you just have to give your body time to recover from all of this. And that might take time. You get what I'm saying?"

Sam nodded, "How much time though?"

"You'll just have to wait and see. You'll know when things are really right again, and trust me, that will happen."

* * *

There was a commotion in the corridor the following morning and two very efficient-looking men in smart suits came in, greeting him by name and then carefully scanning the room for dangers of any kind. Sam stared at them in panic, he knew what a search of this kind could mean, and sure enough, in swept Abby Bartlet, a wide smile on her face. 

"Sam!" The agents slithered out to wait beyond the door, and Abby came right up to his bed, where she stopped and looked at him closely, her eyes narrowed. Sam shifted and wriggled under her scrutiny, trying to hide the wheeze that had plagued him since the previous night, delaying further still his discharge from the hospital. But Abby didn't miss much. She backed off to look at his charts, "What are you on?" and she rattled off the various drugs she predicted he would have received overnight.

Sam nodded, and straightened his hospital gown, a slight pout marring his features, "Yes, ma'am." His voice was husky.

"Aww, Sam. You're miserable." She pulled up a chair, "Mind if I sit down?"

"Course not."

"Toby tells me you're bored."

"Intensely."

"But you can't get out of here yet?"

"They don't – " Sam blushed slightly, "They don't trust me to be careful."

"Tim Woods has a very high reputation. I'd recommend any of my patients follow his advice, and I think that extends to my husband's senior staffers too." She winked at him. "I know Toby won't bring you any work so I thought I might."

Sam's eyebrows went up, "You're bringing me work?"

It was Abby's turn to look a little bashful, "I have – a – well, it's a speech I have to make, to a small group of people, it's – well, it won't be an easy one, and I frankly don't think my staff are up to it on this one. I know that sounds unprofessional, but this is a speech that requires a particular compassion and, well, gentleness." She squinted at him, "I know you can write what I need, Sam, you more than any of the writers on the staff. I can get you whatever information you require, if you'd be willing to give it a go."

Sam's eyes had grown huge. He stared at her, unsure what to say, and was saved by a coughing fit that left him gasping and wheezing for a minute. Abby sat there and watched him before getting up to fetch him some water. As he settled, he leaned back against the raised pillows and lifted an apologetic hand, the IV line swinging.

"Sorry about that."

"Sam, you don't have to apologise. I'm a doctor, remember. So what d'you say, could you work on something for me, even just nut out a framework of suggestions, phrases, paragraphs that would be useful?"

Sam nodded, biting his lower lip a little nervously.

Abby glanced around, "Look, how about we have a coffee, would that be good?"

Sam really smiled then, "I'd love that."

Abby went to the door and spoke to her assistant, and then came back, looking out the window, "You get a good view here, don't you?" She swung around, "I don't suppose you've even felt like getting up?"

Sam rubbed his eyes and then wiped the heel of his hand across his forehead in a vicious swipe, "I just can't! I can barely lift my head off the pillow." His voice betrayed his distress for the first time and Abby came back and sat down. She took one of his hands in her own,

"It's a slow process. Just take your time."

He stared back at her then his gaze flickered around the confining walls of his room with desperate eyes, "I just can't adjust. I can't see that there's time, there's just so much that needs to be done, now." His hand twitched in Abby's grasp, but she held on to him firmly.

"SAM! Stop and look at me." He started nervously and focused back on her. "You are in here because of that very attitude. You can't keep – what's that phrase – oh, yes, stretching the envelope." She ignored Sam's roll of the eyes and carried on, still holding onto his hand, "You really have to get completely well this time, you're putting your health at risk." She frowned at him, "I'm really serious. Take a look at yourself, kiddo. You're sitting here pale and tired, on IV, you don't look like the Sam Seaborn I know you really are."

Sam broke eye-contact and stared at the bed. He was embarrassed and miserable. He knew she was right but he didn't want to hear her words. Abby let go of his hand and rubbed the side of his arm in a frighteningly comforting manner and he squinted back at her. 

"I know," he whispered sadly, "Trust me, I do know."

Abby smiled gently and shifted her shoulders, "Well, want to hear what I need from you?"

* * *

 

The late afternoon sun danced sleepily over the silvery-grey of the Potomac, gentle ripples angling across the flow, lapping dusky water at the riverbank. The evening traffic began to build up, a steady stream of cars as workers made their way out of the frenetic world that was DC, seeking respite in their suburban homes for the night. The softer twilight bathed the trees along the waterway in a pale, yellowish green, and the very slight breeze that skimmed the water shuffled the branches in gentle arabesques. 

Sam stood at the window, his IV strung out from the bedside, and he stared wistfully at the activity on the roads and the beauty of the sunset. Sam loved twilight. It was his favourite time to run; as other people headed home to their families, he liked to get out of the office for half an hour and run near the river, soaking up the last rays of the sun and welcoming the peace and solitude of dusk after a frantic day and before a busy evening. He loved to pound through the park, free of the confines of a tie and jacket, running away from Toby's intensity and the demands of the non-stop activity in the Bullpen.

He sighed deeply, surprised to find that for the first time in days it wasn't followed by a coughing fit. He rubbed his hands up and down his ribcage, inhaling again, testing his lungpower. Another breath, but this time he felt the familiar tickle and he quickly pushed the air back out, bracing himself against the sill as the coughing started. A couple of minutes later, stars still flickering around his peripheral vision, he slunk back to bed and resumed his writing.

Dr Bartlet had set him a difficult task and he could see why she was so concerned. She had to address a select group of mothers who had found their babies asleep forever, dead in their bassinettes, victims of SIDS. Sam didn't have siblings and had little experience of babies, but Abby had sent him a pile of her own resources, and Bonnie had sourced and downloaded a whole set of articles that she knew Sam would find useful. He had spent the entire day immersed in the sad and confusing world of loss, the unanswered cries of the parents echoing around and around in his head. SIDS seemed to be unpredictable and unpreventable, and it left parents feeling vulnerable for the rest of their lives. He was shocked to see the high rate of SIDS deaths among Native Americans and he thought back to where he first became ill, meeting with the Winnebago tribe out in Nebraska. That had been a successful trip but he had been sick on and off ever since.

Sam found the data difficult to analyse as there were so many unknown factors – SIDS was the answer only if there were no other things found to be wrong with the baby.

He had been thinking about what one mother had said for some time, and he decided to get it written down. He needed to show the mothers that Abby may not have experienced the same thing as them, but that she was attempting to grasp an inkling, for that is all an outsider could expect to gain, an inkling of their pain and sadness and suffering. He opened his laptop again and began to type, if not for the speech, at least for Abby,

The grief is akin to having a bucket inside you. Whenever you are sad, the bucket fills up, sometimes several times a day and it spills over, the tears pouring out. After a time, you may find that the bucket takes a whole day to fill up before it spills over. As the days pass, you may notice several days passing before the bucket is full again. As time passes, you may not fill the bucket for ages, but then one day it will overflow as the grief becomes too much to bear inside. And now, now you may not cry much at all on the outside, but the bucket will never go away. It will always be there, deep inside, taking on your grief. And even now, at unexpected moments, it will overflow again. And the important thing is that I know you have all come to terms with is that it is all right to still feel that grief, that to just get over it is not an option. The grief is yours and yours alone. And it is right.

Sam found himself blinking at the image of a mother grief-stricken over the loss of a tiny baby. He sat back and rubbed his forehead. It was so sad. He wondered about his own parents – why had they only had one child? He wondered if there had ever been any losses that his own difficult mother had suffered, losses she never shared with him. Were there other reasons why his father had found another woman to love? Deep in introspection, Sam had no idea Josh was there until warm breath tickled his ear and he jumped.

"Whoa!" He swung around and found his lover right there, head on one side. "How did you get in here?"

"I just walked in the door. Where were you?"

"Huh?"

"You weren't there. I mean, your body was but you… you were far, far away."

Sam's cheeks reddened slightly and he gave a tiny smile, "I was wondering about my parents." His eyes locked with Josh's, and Josh was taken yet again with the intensity of the blue. How did he get those blue, blue eyes, he wondered? Sam blinked, unaware of Josh's train of thought, and continued, "Why they only had me."

"Because you, my complicated one, were so perfect, they were scared to try again." Josh leaned down and embraced Sam, kissing him firmly on the forehead, the eyes, forcing Sam to close his, the tip of his nose, each cheek and finally Sam's perfect mouth. He kissed him deeply, only stopping as the usual cough rattled deep in Sam's lungs. Josh drew away and sat on the bed as Sam coughed loudly, fluid crackling and shifting, and he held onto Josh's arm for support as his head reeled again with the intensity of his body's attempts to expel the irritants that had settled deep in his lungs. Josh smiled at him and once Sam had settled down, took him in his arms again, and they kissed once more, Sam leaning into Josh, absorbing him and his day in the West Wing, Josh loving the energetic response from his improved partner, and they didn't need to say anything for several minutes.

"Why don't you two just get a room?" They broke apart, breathless, grinning. CJ was leaning in the doorway, arms folded, Toby, behind her, trying to look like he was somewhere else. Sam waved a hand,

"Hey, guys, c'mon in." He coughed again, everyone wincing at the painful sounds. CJ bustled over and gave Sam a kiss on the cheek, Toby slipping past to lean against the window-sill, arms folded.

"So, Spanky, when're you getting out of here?" 

Sam shrugged, "Tomorrow maybe? They won't let me go 'til they're sure – " he stopped.

"Sure you're fine?"

"No!" sniggered Josh, "sure he can actually take care of himself."

Toby snorted from the window, "Then he's here for a life sentence."

"Hey! I'm not that bad. This wasn't my fault."

Josh poked Sam in the chest, "Oh, c'mon, I locked you in your apartment and took the keys! And yet I get a call from none other than Counsellor O'Reilly, phoning from – wait for it – the ER." He poked Sam again, "The ER, Sam. That's not one of my happy places."

CJ smiled, "I don't think there's much you can put up against that argument. You guys all want coffee? I'm buying. Come and give me a hand, Joshua."

After they had gone, Toby cleared his throat, and Sam swung around to face him, sitting cross-legged under the covers, looking for all the world like a small boy. 

"I – ah – heard Abby Bartlet came to see you."

"Was that your idea?" 

"Not initially, but when I realised what she wanted – I hope you didn't mind – it's a hard speech for anyone…"

"It's been good, honestly. A welcome distraction. Although the subject matter… Wanna see what I wrote?"

Toby lifted his eyebrows in acquiescence and Sam opened his laptop, letting Toby perch on the bed to read. There was a weighty silence, broken only by another Sam-coughing fit. Soon after, Toby stopped reading, rubbing his forehead viciously, and looked up at Sam. His dark eyes were haunted and he gazed at his Deputy as if wondering where he had come from. Sam stared back, a little startled, his eyes widening as Toby uttered those very words, 

"Where the hell did you come from?" Toby's tone was almost perplexed, "This is good stuff. Amazing." He shook his head slowly as he closed the laptop. "She's going to like this – a lot."

Sam was still staring. "It was hard. And I haven't finished yet." He yawned suddenly, his eyes watering, "I must be out of practice, you know, concentration and all that. I just can't stay focused for as long as usual."

"That's probably quite normal. You have to remember where you are."

CJ and Josh arrived back, "He's forgotten where he is?" Josh was grinning.

"No," Toby's tone was dry, "He's forgetting why he's here."

"Which is why they won't let him go!" Josh handed Sam a coffee, which he cradled gratefully in two hands, leaning in to sniff the aroma. CJ sat down on the end of the bed and looked carefully at the now-content patient,

"So how are you really feeling, Sam? I mean, you're getting better? You don't look quite so pale and tired as you did."

Sam pouted at her, "I still look pale and tired then?" He sniffed. "I thought I was nearly back to normal." The three well people in the room all burst into laughter and Sam bit his lower lip, embarrassed again. "You guys don't play fair." He concentrated on his coffee.

Toby watched him, "You sure you don't want to just climb into that cup?"

"They make me drink tea!" wailed Sam. "I told them coffee's good for asthma but they don't care." He pouted again. "When is someone going to be on my side?"

CJ grinned at him, indulging him, "Aw, Spanky, I'll come over to your side, when you get out of here. It's playing havoc with my schedule, trying to get over here to see you."

"I'm sorry, Ceej."

"Uh-uh, don't be sorry, just concentrate on getting really well. That's all we want from you right now." Sam smiled at her, a beatific smile that warmed the whole room, and CJ melted just a tiny bit. This guy, she thought. Damn him!

* * *

Tim Woods checked Sam over one more time as he sat on the bed, restless now in jeans and a sweater. 

"Just sit still, will you? I'm still not sure you're ready for this." Sam swung round to stare at him, sending the stethoscope swinging back around Tim's neck. "Dammit, SIT STILL!" Tim couldn't believe how jumpy Sam was and he placed a heavy hand on his patient's shoulder, anchoring him to the bed. "Please just let me do this?"

"Sorry, Tim. Sorry, I just can't wait to go home." Sam's eyes were alight with excitement and Tim felt the infectious enthusiasm slide in his direction. He grinned at the man before him. He had sat and read Sam's work before he sent it on to Dr Bartlet and he had been deeply moved by the gentle sentiments expressed so beautifully. He found Sam to be the most interesting, challenging, irritating, brilliant and lovable patient he had ever encountered. He was almost sad to see him go, and he was surprised at the strength of his own feelings. He wondered what his girlfriend would say about that. He took out his torch.

"Just let me have a look down your throat then, please." Sam obediently opened his mouth and Tim checked him out. "I think it'll be a little sore until you stop coughing, but everything's much better." He pocketed the torch and rattled the stethoscope, "Any chance of you sitting still for one more minute?"

* * *

Josh shut the door and Sam flew into his arms, "We're finally alone!"

"Whoa, can we at least get as far as the bedroom?" Josh was laughing and he dragged Sam across the living room and into their bedroom. "Okay, now we can relax." He pulled Sam close and slipped his hands up under Sam's sweater, letting his hands rest on Sam's bare waist. "Mmm, you're nice and warm." He ran his hands up and down Sam's torso, rippling along his ribcage, "You lost weight."

Sam shrugged under his hands, "Hospital food." He added a hand to Josh's two roving ones, "I lost all my muscle tone though." He pouted miserably and Josh immediately kissed him.

"Doesn't matter. Not this week. You're alive and here and that's all I ask for." He let his hands run around Sam's back and up to his shoulders. Sam squirmed and moaned with pleasure as Josh's hands massaged his shoulder blades. He wrapped his arms around Josh's waist and hugged him close. Their bodies, aroused to a new height of expectancy, pressed against one another and Sam trembled, suddenly shaking like a leaf. He clung harder to Josh, who gasped slightly,

"Hey, Sam, c'mon, what's the matter?" He could feel the tremors of his partner shuddering into him, and he eased him over to the bed. They sat down as one, Sam still tightly wrapped around Josh, Josh with his hands still under Sam's shirt. Josh tried to look into Sam's face, "Why're you shaking?"

"I'm – " Sam's voice was slightly muffled against Josh's shoulder, "Oh, God, I'm just so relieved to be back, and so – God, I want you so much. I've missed you so badly." He shook harder for a moment and Josh smiled. He gently lifted Sam's sweater up over his head and ran his hands all over Sam's bare torso. Sam was definitely thinner, a little more fragile looking than either of them was used to. Sam frowned down at himself but Josh just pushed him back onto the bed, swinging his legs up so that he was lying flat. Then Josh leaned down and ran his flat hand up and down Sam's bare chest, from waist to chest to collarbone, then back down again, up and down, slowly soothing away the tremors and focusing Sam on the pleasure of the moment. Josh lay down too and kept up the massage, gently patting Sam's belly, circling his navel, slowly easing his jeans open and sliding his hand under the charcoal-coloured boxers. By the time he had taken off Sam's pants, Sam simply lay there in his boxers aflame with desire, no longer shaking but squirming with enjoyment, and it didn't take Josh long to join him for what was shaping up to be a Very Good Night.

* * *

Sam's first day back and there were carnations on his desk from Ginger and Bonnie, and a single rose from Donna. He stood there in the middle of his office, feeling so removed, not sure how to get back into it. Getting dressed that morning, his suit had felt odd, his tie had taken three goes to get right, his hair had grown too long and his face was pale. He had nearly given up before he even left the apartment. Josh had been encouraging though and Sam had let him drive his car one more time. But now on his own in the office, he felt lost. He sighed and turned in a full circle, unsure what to do first. Just then, Toby breezed into the Bullpen, a whirlwind and a rustle of newspapers, and dumped his bag in his office.

"Sam, get in here and bring a pen!" And just like that, eight simple words and Sam was back.

That'll do!!!


End file.
